


Crack in a Box

by JodyNorman



Series: The Legacy [11]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Psychic Bond, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 21:16:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 46,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1998132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JodyNorman/pseuds/JodyNorman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An entity has escaped and now it's hunting in Cascade. Simon is a victim, and Jim and Blair are also targets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Sensory Overload #8

Prologue

 

          Lightning crawled across the sky, and the furious thrust of rain against the windshield of the SUV increased. The driver peered through the wipers, already pushed to their highest level, and slowed even further. This road wasn't well-traveled, or well-lighted, but he remembered the curve coming up and hoped that the following bridge that arched across a now water-full ravine wasn't already covered.

          Inching around the curve, he sighed slightly when he edged up to the beginning of the bridge. The headlights were dimmed by the furious downpour, but he could make out glints on rushing water beneath the span. The bridge still held, and for the moment at least, it was above the flood. He pushed down on the accelerator.

          He was almost to the other side when he heard the sudden roar, and a swift glance upstream revealed the enormous swirl of debris rushing toward him, quite able to clear both the SUV and the bridge from its path.

          He made it to solid ground, but the crash as the bridge collapsed into ruin behind him made the ground shake, and the road under his wheels shivered. The car slid, just a little.

          It was enough.

In that downpour, even a momentary loss of control could cost one the road, and even his experience couldn't halt the crunch as the wheels met the side of the asphalt or the sick jar as the tires lifted, tilting into slick mud and spinning as he fought for balance. The SUV tilted, then fell, rolling down the bank in one long, mind-numbing spiral that halted with a screech of tortured metal as the vehicle slammed into a tree. The back jolted open, several cardboard boxes tumbling out. One smashed into another tree and burst open, spilling what looked like small pots and urns and the like across the ground.

The headlights flickered and went out as the engine died, and then there was silence, only the constant roar of the raging stream just yards away punctuating the night.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair started awake. "No!"

          The bedroom was dark and silent around him, and he drew in a deep, slow breath, then sat up, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them.

          "Chief?"

          Jim's voice was low, and lifting his head, Blair could make out his friend's form in the doorway. "Hi," he said tiredly. "Sorry, man. Again."

          The Sentinel shook his head and moved over to sit on the bed. "It's not a problem. Was it the same one?" He reached over to touch the younger man's forehead, and Blair grimaced, pulling away, then sighed, letting the sensitive finger rest on his skin a moment before turning his head.

          "I'm fine, Jim. Really," he added, sensing his friend's frown without seeing it.

          "Sandburg, you're not fine. You're still recovering from that gunshot wound three weeks ago, you're just coming off a bout of pneumonia, and you haven't had a solid night's rest for the last week. That's not my definition of fine. Was it the same nightmare?"

          Blair rubbed his hands across his face, not bothering to hide his weariness. The Sentinel would see it anyway, and he was just too tired to care. "Yeah."

          "Anything?"

          "No. It was just the same – dark, solid, dangerous. And I still can't see it. It's closer, though."

          Jim was silent, and Blair grimaced, feeling the worry in the gaze resting on him. "Damn it, Jim, I'm missing something, something vital." He ran his hands through his hair, tugging at a handful as frustration reared up. "I'm a shaman! This isn't a normal nightmare, it's a sending. I can feel it, and I can't see it!" He dropped his hands in his lap as the ever-present weariness surged through him again. "Something's coming – something dark and big and dangerous. Something interested in us. That's all I know, and that's all I've known for the last week!"

          Jim's sigh was soft, a mere breath of air. "You're not perfect, Chief. It's not like we haven't faced worse with less information. We're warned this time, and that's more than we've had before."

          Blair shook his head. "There should be more. I can tell."

          "Maybe so," the cop agreed, "but this is the way it is. Let it go, Sandburg. Your wearing yourself out like this isn't going to help us deal with whatever-it-is."

          The shaman shrugged. "Maybe not, but it's not like I can stop the dreams, Jim. They're gonna come anyway, until I either figure out what's going on, or it's too late for the dreams to help." He released a frustrated breath. "I just wish I could _see_ it."

          "Is there something in the way?" the Sentinel asked, the words awkward.

          Blair smiled a little, then frowned, considering. "Not really. But sort of."

          Jim rolled his eyes. "That's not a real clear answer, Chief."

          "Yeah, I know," the anthropologist said, smiling again. "That's the problem."

          Ellison shook his head and stood. "You want some of that tea you like? Maybe it'll help put you back to sleep."

          Blair tried to bite back his shiver, but wasn't sure he'd succeeded. He was so tired that all he really needed was to lie back down and he'd be asleep. But he'd already tried that a couple of nights, and he ended up right back in the dream. At least the tea seemed to stave that off a little longer.

          "Or there's the pills."

          The quiet comment told the Guide that his reaction hadn't gone unnoticed, and he sighed. "Man, they'll make me so blurry tomorrow, and I hate that."

          "I'll halve the dose."

          Blair found himself actually considering the offer, which told him as much about how tired he was as did his Sentinel's surprising willingness to modify a prescription outlined by the doctor. Jim was really worried about him if he was willing to do that.

          "All right," he said slowly. "But only half; and I'm trusting you, man, not to slip me the whole thing. I need to be sharp tomorrow when we meet with Simon, and you need me to be that way, too."

          Jim sighed. "I know, Chief. Only half, I promise."

          The anthropologist nodded, hearing the rattle as the bottle on the bedstand was opened and closed, then feeling the rough edge on the pill that his friend handed him. Accepting a water bottle, he swallowed the capsule without protest, then lay back down, Jim's supporting hand warm through his nightshirt. Sleep swept over him like a black freight train, and he was only dimly aware of the Sentinel's hand smoothing his hair before the darkness took him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "He doesn't look good, Jim." Simon's words were curt as the two men met at the coffee and donut cart in the Bull Pen, but the Sentinel could see the worry in the man's gaze as he studied the post-doc, sitting in his accustomed chair next to Ellison's desk and reading through a report.

          Jim shrugged, choosing several donuts and setting two coffee cups on the tray he'd chosen. "I know. But he insisted on being here for the meeting." He shook his head at the glare that pinned him. "He's not a tag-along novice anymore, Simon; he knows the risks as well as I do, and he took a half-dose of the sleeping pill last night to get some rest. If he's willing to do that to be here, I can't argue with him."

          "He should be in bed," the captain grumbled.

          "I tried that," Ellison said dryly, tearing open three sugar packets and dumping them in one of the coffees, then choosing a stirrer to sweep through the dark liquid. "But he has a bad feeling about this whole situation, so he's here."

          "Is this one of those shaman things?" Simon said uneasily, frowning.

          "Yep," Jim said, closing his lips on the word as he tossed the small stick into the trash receptacle and lifted the tray, turning toward his partner.

          "Damn it," Banks muttered as he trailed behind. "I really, really hate it when that happens."

          "Yes, sir," the Sentinel said over his shoulder as he reached Blair. "I know, sir."

          "Get in here, both of you!" The growl was half-hearted, but the anthropologist looked up and smiled, accepting a donut and his coffee from Jim before standing to follow him toward the captain's office.

          "All right," Simon announced as he sat down behind his desk, the move matched by the two men on the other side. "You've probably heard about this case you're getting today, Jim, but I'm not sure your partner has. Care to explain it?"

          "Does this have anything to do with the Cascade Jewelers?" Blair asked, turning to stare at Jim with something like his usual energy. At least for the moment, six hours of uninterrupted sleep had given him a few more resources to draw on, and for the first time in weeks, he felt almost normal again.

          Both Jim and Simon grimaced at the name the press had given to the jewelry thieves. "Yeah," Jim nodded. "I don't know how much of the news you've really seen this last week, but the robbers have now hit eight times – five residential homes, two stores, one hotel safe – and gotten away clean every time."

          "No one's seen a thing," Simon added in disgust.

          "Yeah," Blair nodded, "I do remember hearing that. The news is all over this. Guess that means that the heat's on you," he added, looking at Simon with a wry grin.

          The captain grimaced. "We think the leader's a master jewel thief, since the robberies are flawless. We know there are three thieves, but who they are, or what their plans are…" He shook his head.

          "Any of the stolen jewelry found?" Ellison asked, more for Blair's sake than because he didn't know himself.

          "No, none," Simon said, picking up a cigar and rolling it between his hands. "Which means they're either sitting on it, or selling it out of state."

          "Any news on a big name in town?" Blair asked, his eyes sliding away from the gazes he received.

          "You keep up with questions like that, Sandburg, I just might start to think you're turning into a cop," the captain rumbled.

          "Hey, man, give me a break," the anthropologist said, trying not to smirk. "I've been around the block a time or two by now. But I'm a post-doc, nothing more. Definitely _not_ a cop."

          "Thank God for that," Jim said, gaining himself a scowl for his fervent tone. "So, the case is ours, Simon?" he added, switching the topic.

          "Oh, yeah, all yours," Banks said, sticking the cigar between his teeth and reaching for a match. "At least these guys haven't been violent; no one's been injured so far, so this one isn't likely to land either of you in a hospital with gunshot wounds." He leveled a glare on Sandburg.

          "Hey, that was so _not_ my fault, Simon!" Blair protested, holding up his hands. "Jim would've been ground meat if I hadn't done that, and you know it."

          "Go on, get out of here," the captain growled, waving his now-lit cigar at the two of them. "And be careful!"

          "Sure," Ellison said, giving his partner a hand up and ignoring the glare he received in return. "Come on, Junior," he added, "let's go see how many jewelry thieves we can dig up today."

          "Very funny, Jim. Just because you had to dig me out of that ditch when it collapsed…"

          Their voices trailed off into the Bull Pen, and Simon shook his head, fighting back the smile that made his lips twitch.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "No," Blair muttered, his body tense in the sleep-induced paralysis that held him. "No, not him… No… Simon!" The last word was a desperate cry, and he jerked awake, finding himself sitting up in bed, his breathing harsh and ragged.

          "What's with Simon?" The undertone of worry in Jim's voice was clear as he pushed open the door, and Blair looked up at him, knowing his own frustration was obvious to the Sentinel.

          "I don't know!" The words triggered a coughing fit as he tried to breathe through a tension-tight chest. Jim was and immediately beside him, gentle fingers rubbing his back until the coughing eased.

          "What happened?" the cop asked when Blair could take a deep breath again.

          "I don't know," the shaman said, trying to clear the frustrated anger from his voice and aware that his partner could hear it anyway. "But something did."

          "Was this like the other nightmares?"

          "No," Blair said, considering the word as he spoke it. "Well, maybe… Sort of." Jim took a breath and let it out, and the anthropologist glared up at him. "I can't help the way it sounds!"

          Ellison sighed, his hand still moving in circles across the younger man's back. "I know, Chief. But Simon–"

          The phone rang, the sound loud in the darkened loft. Jim didn't hesitate, his footsteps quick out the door and into the other room.

          Blair grimaced, trying to hear, but his friend's answers were sporadic, mostly grunts as he listened to the caller. The anthropologist sighed, then levered himself out of bed and reached for the clothes he'd thrown over a chair some three hours before.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim stared down at his old friend, lying still in the hospital bed, and gritted his teeth against the surge of helpless fury sweeping through him. "You said his prognosis was good?"

          "Yes," Dr. Trent answered, his gaze keen on the Sentinel, shifting now and again to rest on Blair. "Aside from some cracked ribs and bruises, he should be fine. Perhaps a light concussion." His tone left the evaluation hanging, and Jim heard the anthropologist's almost inaudible sigh.

          "So he just needs to wake up. Which he's not doing," the younger man added, the tired undertone to his voice almost obscured by the worry in it.

          "No," the doctor agreed, "he's not. And he should be."

          "The knock on his head wasn't that bad." Ellison's voice was flat, and he restrained an urge to rub his forehead. The glitter of the chrome and metal in the room was feeding his growing headache, and the constant beep of the EKG monitor out at the nurses' station was getting harder and harder to ignore. And the rain pounding outside didn't help.

          "Turn down the dial, Jim." Blair's murmur was Sentinel-soft, and the older man could feel the increased heat as his Guide stepped a little closer. He took a deeper breath, feeling the tension in his temples ease as the dial dropped, and with it the hyper-awareness.

          Looking up from Simon's still form, Jim caught Dr. Trent's gaze on him, concerned and knowledgeable, and managed to shrug at the man. The only doctor who knew of his gifts and of the relationship between himself and Blair, Alan had learned quickly how to recognize when the Sentinel was being stressed.[1]

          "Have his Glasgow readings been measured?" Blair's voice was quiet, and Jim glanced at him, sudden memories vivid of the taste of those same words in his own mouth, a year or two before[2], and from his partner's glance at him he knew his own unease had been noticed.

          "Yes," Alan answered, frowning. "They're low, but I expected that. I wouldn't have expected him to drop into a coma with the injury he has, but it's not unheard of, and if he wakes within seventy-two hours it won't be too unusual. But even so, if it goes past twenty-four hours…"

          "His chances decline progressively," Jim finished, his throat tight as he finished the too-well remembered warning.

          "It's over, big guy," Blair said softly. "I came out of it, and so will Simon."

          This time Jim did rub his forehead, ignoring Alan's measuring gaze at the movement. "Has his ex-wife been contacted? He has a son; Darryl is, what, around seventeen?" He looked at his Guide, who nodded.

          "Senior in high school this coming year, last I heard," Blair added, glancing down at the still figure in the bed. "Simon's looking forward to watching him graduate come next May."

          The words rang in the room, and the anthropologist winced slightly, rubbing his eyes. "Can we turn on another light?"

          Alan's eyebrows peaked, and he shook his head. "Sorry, Blair, all the lights are on in here."

          "Damn," Sandburg murmured, shaking his head and blinking, "I must be more tired than I thought."

          "It's just late, Chief," Jim said softly.

          "Must be," Blair agreed. "But about Darryl…"

          "His wife was contacted an hour ago," Alan said, picking up a clipboard and glancing at it. "But she's currently at a relative's who lives a couple of hours away, so it's going to take a while for her to get here. Mr. Banks' son is with her."

          "He'll be allowed to see his father, right?" Blair asked, an edge to his voice. "I mean, the hospital will let him in even if he's a minor, right?"

          "He's old enough," the doctor said, nodding. "I don't think hospital policy will be a problem."

          "Good," Jim grunted. He took a breath and sighed it out. "Come on, Sandburg; since Simon left me in charge if something should happen to him while Joel's on vacation, I have to go into the station to tell them the news and see how things are going."

          The anthropologist hesitated. "I'd like to stay here."

          "Sorry, Blair," Alan said quietly, "but that's a no. You're still coming off the pneumonia, and if you spend much time here you could pick up something else. You don't need that, and neither does your partner. And frankly, neither do I. Dealing with either of you as a patient again for a while is an experience I'd rather avoid."

          Jim's lips lifted slightly. "I didn't think you were picking up on my bad habits, Chief."

          "Hey, man," Blair answered, trying to sound upbeat, "it's not me who's the terror around here. It's you he doesn't want to deal with. Me, I'm a regular angel; everyone likes me."

          "Uh huh," Alan said dryly. "You just keep telling yourself that, Mr. I-hate-hospitals. Go on, get out of here."

          Blair sighed. "Sorry, Simon," he said, dropping a hand to touch the man's lax wrist. "But I'll be back," he said, staring at Alan with a determined gaze.

          "Both of us will be," Jim added. "Hang in there, Simon. Come on, Sandburg."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Voices echoed down the hospital corridor, and Blair hesitated, then turned aside into another hallway, stepping into an alcove as Darryl and his mother passed by. Darryl's expression was very sober, and she was speaking quietly, her tone one the police observer recognized as the determined, upbeat one used for comfort when the speaker wasn't sure what to say. He stepped out into the passageway behind them and watched them for a moment, then sighed and started toward his destination again.

          The area was empty of people when he reached Simon's room, and he glanced around, then slipped through the door. "Hi, Simon," he said lowly, approaching to stand beside the cot, looking down at the man in it. "I know, I know," he added, holding up his hands at the reaction he knew Banks would have had. "Everyone'll be on my case when they figure out where I am, but I can't just walk off and leave a friend alone like this. It's a lousy feeling, being alone."

He paused, memories flashing through his mind, then shook them off. "I can't stay long before Jim misses me, but I finished the research I was doing at the university early and thought I'd drop by. Besides," he said, rubbing his nose, "I thought you'd appreciate the company." He grinned at the unheard reply, a smile that died as the silence in the room sank in, and he sighed, studying the older man. "Man, you don't know how strange it is to see you in this place. Usually it's the other way around, you know? I mean, I've lost count of the times you've seen me in the hospital, and you have too probably. I keep expecting you to wake up and tell everyone it's all a mistake, that you're outta here, now."

He shook his head, his lips tight. "But that's not gonna happen, is it? Somehow, this is tied to my dreams, but I don't know how. I saw you, you know," he added, knowing he was rambling. "Or at least I saw something about you being in trouble. I don't know what it was, just like I don't remember the dreams, but I know they're linked, somehow." He paused. "Maybe that's why it seems darker in here to me than to anyone else; some kind of resonance to my problem with whatever-it-is."

He turned to pace, but had to satisfy himself with only a few steps before he ran into a wall. Pacing back, he stared down at the captain, frowning. "And I don't know why I'm telling you this. I mean, I know you're not comfortable with the 'shaman thing,' and whatever this is is tied into that, but you've been there with me and Jim when we've needed you, and you and I and Joel built something when Jim was off being Kallini." He paused, then shrugged. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I feel like I can talk to you, so I am. Of course," he added, "if people in comas really can hear people around them, you're going to want to kick my butt for this conversation later, but hey, as long as there is a later, I don't really care."

"When did it all begin?" he mused, shoving his hands into his pockets while he thought. "I guess the dreams started around two weeks ago, but they were minor at first, and I didn't wake up from them. Then, around a week ago, they really started hitting me hard. Thank God they waited until I was out of the hospital," he snorted. "That would've been really fun, trying to explain that to everyone. Anyway, it always seems like I can't really remember the dreams, but I think now it's more that I can't see clearly in them. It's like there's this fog around me, and I can't tell what's happening, or what's there, 'cause something's there…" He trailed off for a long moment, fighting off the shivers. Abruptly weariness poured into him, and he swayed a little, then seated himself in the chair.

"Damn," he said unsteadily, "I'm so tired of being tired, you know? I wouldn't've thought a gunshot injury and pneumonia would sack me out so much weeks later. I mean, it's not like I haven't had pneumonia before, and as for being shot, hey, man, that's kind of routine by now, you'd think I'd be used to it." He took a moment to breathe, then went on. "But I know something's out there. It's coming, or maybe it's already here. But all I can tell about it is that it's big, it's dark, and it has a purpose. It's alive, Simon, and it wants something, maybe a lot of something."

He sighed, rubbing his thumbs over his temples, trying to smooth away the increasing tension there. "I think it had something to do with what happened to you, but that's just a feeling, I've got nothing to prove it."

Sudden anger surged through him, and he dropped clenched fists into his lap. "And I can't see it, Simon! I can't even blasted see it! What kind of a shaman can't see his dreams? I could always see them before!" He sighed, the anger draining away. "And there's something else, too. I know this sounds really egotistical, but darn it, I just can't shake the feeling that it knows about me. But if that's true, I can't even tell how much it knows. And I guess that's what scares me. I mean, every time I've dealt with something before now, I could usually tell how much the other side knew about me, and what it didn't know, too. This time, I'm walking blind."

"But not for long."

Jim's voice was quiet, but Blair jumped, skewing around to find the Sentinel leaning against the closed door. "What–? How–?"

Ellison shook his head, straightening to pace over to him. "What, you didn't think I wouldn't know you came here?"

"Uh," his Guide said, not wanting to admit that that was exactly what he'd thought.

"It was obvious," Jim pointed out, his tone quietly neutral. "You forgot something."

"What's that?" Blair mumbled, staring at the bed.

"I'm your partner." He paused and then added, "You forgot about the link, didn't you."

It wasn't a question, and the shaman flushed.

His friend sighed. "You're not the only one who uses it now, you know. I don't read your mind, Sandburg," he added as the anthropologist glanced upward in shock. "But if I think about it, I usually know where you are." He looked down at the younger man, meeting his eyes. "After the last time, I swore I'd never lose you like that again, and I mean to keep that promise."[3]

Blair looked down again, trying to hide the tears pricking behind his eyes at the naked caring in his friend's gaze, and telling himself fiercely that it was just because he was tired.

"Come on, Chief, it's time to go home and rest."

The gentle note in the Sentinel's voice told the shaman that his reaction hadn't gone unnoticed, and he felt his flush mount higher as Jim's hand dropped to his shoulder, pressing briefly. "All right," he answered lowly. "See you later, Simon," he added, turning to look down at the captain as he stood, his balance wavering for a moment. Jim's grasp tightened, and Blair gratefully leaned into the support. "Thanks for listening," he added, turning toward the door at his friend's urging. "I'll be back."

"I'll be back," Jim said dryly over his shoulder. "Alone."

"We'll just see about that," the shaman muttered under his breath, hearing his friend's exasperated affection in his rough sigh as Ellison ushered him out.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "They don't really have a choice, Blair." Jim's voice was quiet, tinged with worry as he and his partner sat in the police station's small deli, ignoring the bustle around them as the shifts changed. "Since there's no telling when Simon'll wake up, they have to assign someone in his place, hopefully on a temporary basis."

          The anthropologist sighed, hearing the roughness underlying Simon's name. "I guess not," he said, tracing a finger around his almost full coffee cup as it sat untouched on the table in front of him. "But why can't they just leave you in charge? Why rock the boat?"

          "It doesn't work that way," Ellison answered patiently, nodding to Rafe and Brown as they passed by with plates and napkins. "It's like the military, someone who holds the same rank has to sit in the captain's chair. There's a lot to being captain."

          "The politics," Blair agreed. "Being that much closer to all the higher-ups can be a pain in the ass."

          "You got that right," Jim nodded. "And the paperwork. And not being out in the field as much."

          "Yeah, that's probably a necessity for a Sentinel," the anthropologist commented. "Being locked up in an office would go against everything you are."

          The detective shuddered. "Don't remind me. But this David Turner who's stepping in…"

          "Any relation to Captain Turner down in Lacovue?[4]" Blair asked, choosing one of his donuts and taking a bite.

          "Yeah, his brother," Jim said, frowning.

          "That means he might know what happened to you down there."

          "Might."

          There was silence for a moment as they watched the people around them. Almost every table was full, and the hum of conversation was a few decibels higher than usual as everyone discussed the news.

          "What about us?"

          Jim sighed, rubbing his forehead. He hadn't even reached his desk yet and already he had a headache.

          "It was hard enough getting Simon to let me play observer," Blair said, his voice very quiet, almost lost in the noise around them. "And he knew you. Starting over with someone else…"

          "I know."

          The Guide studied him for a long moment. "I think we should tell him."

          Ellison straightened. "About us?" He forced a smile at a nearby table of officers as they looked over, drawn by his tone of alarm, and dropped his voice. "No!"

          "Jim, he needs to know. Otherwise, he's just going to–"

          "I said no!"

          "– the worst, and that–"

          "Damn it, Sandburg–"

          "Why not?"

          The Sentinel opened his mouth, then closed it, words frozen behind his clenched teeth.

          "Why not?" Blair hissed, leaning forward to look at him. "What've we got to lose, man? If he breaks us up, we're shit out of luck, and he might just do that!" He rocked back in his seat, his gaze fixed on his friend.

          "And what makes you think he'll believe us?" Jim's voice was low, but intense enough that it halted the anthropologist's answer. "You want us to walk in and say, 'Oh, by the way, we're Sentinel and Guide, and you have to leave us alone to work the way we want'? You remember Simon's reaction the first time?"

          Blair's gaze dropped, and he nodded.

          "If we walk in and present ourselves as officer and observer, a long-term relationship that Simon okayed and supported, we might be able to pull it off," the detective pointed out. "But as Sentinel and Guide – it'll be a quick trip to a place with padded walls."

          "But–"

          "Turner's fair," Jim said, the words quieter as he continued. "I've worked under him one other time, before the case with the Switchman. He took over when Simon went on vacation, before Joel's promotion," he paused as the tense struck him, then plowed ahead, his jaw tight, "so he knows the men and the department. He's not coming in new. And like most of us, he tries not to rock the boat when something's working."

          "Well, that's something," Blair muttered. "We do work, after all, even if we're unorthodox." He took a breath, then remembered his donut and nibbled it. "I guess that's why you've tried to match our vacations to Simon's, huh?"

          "Yeah," Jim answered, grimacing. "Now I think maybe we should've stayed here some of those times – would've set us up as a working team."

The anthropologist shrugged. "Might not have mattered. You did what you thought was best at the time, and if he'd objected then, it could've caused problems for Simon to keep us on. Maybe there aren't any right choices for this, you know? We just do the best we can all the way around, and hope it works out."

"Yeah," Ellison sighed. "I just don't have much faith in hope, Chief."

"Hey, man, don't knock hope; sometimes it's all we've had going for us, and it's worked out. This will, too, you'll see."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Or not," Blair muttered as he watched Turner's glance at them.

It was later that morning when the man arrived, and the Bull Pen was as tense as the anthropologist had ever felt it. All morning various members of the Major Crimes had been wandering by Jim's desk, stopping to chat, sharing a moment with the two of them, offering them donuts or coffee or other things. Blair watched the fourth one pace back to his desk, and glanced over at his partner.

"They're offering us support," Jim replied in answer to the tacit question. "Letting us know we're not alone." He eyed the observer for a long moment, then added, "Both of us."

          Blair blinked at him for a moment, then looked down at the report he'd been reading. "Wow. I didn't realize…" He trailed off and felt Jim's smile.

          "You thought it was just me."

          The detective's comment was soft, and Sandburg nodded, his hair falling forward into his face. "Yeah. I mean, hey, man, cops are one of the hardest societies to break into, almost impossible unless you're one of them, and I'm–"

          "My partner," Jim finished, reaching over to tap Blair's head. "Official or not, you're my partner, and everyone here has seen you act like one."

          "I guess so," the anthropologist muttered. Glancing across the room, he managed a smile as Rafe and Brown waved, and swallowed at the thumbs-up he received, flushing as others around him echoed the move.

          "Incoming," Jim said softly as a man walked into the Bull Pen. Light-haired and blue-eyed, the stranger was tall, his confident stride perfectly in keeping with the assurance that rode with him.

          "Oh, boy," the Guide said softly, studying the man with all the experience he could bring to bear. Years of working with Jim had honed his observation skills, already sharp, to a new edge, and he felt his stomach tighten as he met Turner's eyes across the room. _We are in so deep shit here it's not even funny_. He could feel it in the steady, quiet gaze that rested on them for a long moment before the man moved to the center of the room and raised his voice.

          "Hello, people!"

          Everyone halted, watching him, and he looked slowly around, meeting many eyes. _He knows how to connect, that's for sure_ , Sandburg thought, glad that his clenched fists were in his lap, hidden.

          "I wish that I could say that I was glad to see all of you," Turner continued, unsmiling, "but I can't. Simon Banks is a good man, and a good leader, and I know all of you miss him. So do I." He paused, taking a breath, his gaze flicking over Blair and Jim without stopping. "I've been assigned acting captain of Major Crimes for the duration, and no one hopes more strongly than I do that it's temporary." He waited until the rustle died down. "But until Simon returns we'll all need to work together. I know that we can do that, but I also understand, none better, that every captain, and every unit, has their own particular way of doing things, and that those methods and techniques are often hidden away from the visitor. I've worked with many of you before, but this wasn't my territory, and it wasn't my place to know the inner workings of the unit. We got the job done, and that was the important thing."

He turned, gazing around at all of them. "But this time it needs to be different. This time, we need to begin building something together, all of us, that can last if it has to. I pray that it doesn't have to, that Simon will wake up tomorrow, and if this were any place other than a police station, I'd leave it at that, and we'd wait it out until we were certain of the situation."

He shook his head at them. "But this is a police station, and I can't leave it. Lives depend on our understanding each other out there," he waved toward the door, "not least of which our own. I can't stand on the outside this time, and you can't afford to let me."

He paced forward, meeting one set of eyes after another, pausing before he reached Jim's end of the room. "For all our sakes," he said slowly, "and for the sakes of the innocents outside these walls, we have to share our secrets now, and move on, together."

Blair took a long, steadying breath, trying to quiet the tension burning in his stomach. When Turner had mentioned innocents, he had looked straight at the anthropologist. The observer knew that a line was being drawn, and he stood on the other side of it. He felt Jim's anger echo through him, and knew without looking that the Sentinel's jaw was bunched and hard.

Other officers shifted uneasily, several glances slipping sideways to touch himself and Jim, and he saw frowns. They understood the distinction that Turner was making, too, and ordinarily, Blair knew, they might have agreed. But the post-doc had been here too long, done too much, suffered too much, shared too much, to cast him aside easily. He saw Turner's quick assessment of that resistance, saw the small frown that gathered in his eyes, and couldn't help the small thrill that ran through him. _My place_ , he thought, meeting the fierce gaze head-on, settling himself in his own strength. _Mine. I've earned it, and I'm not giving it up without a fight. You'll have to take it, and you might be surprised how hard that is_.

"Of course," Turner said soberly, glancing around at them, "most of you also know that I try not to fix something that isn't broken, as long as I understand how and why it works. I'm not out to remake this department into an echo of my old one. We have to build this together, and that takes trust, on both sides. I will not abuse that trust, but neither will I take it on faith. Talk to me, people, and we'll do just fine." He smiled at them, and the genuine warmth in the expression caught Blair by surprise, especially when the acting captain included him in the glance.

"I'd like to talk to all of you, get caught up on what each of you is doing and how you're approaching it," he said briskly. "However, I don't expect you to have that kind of recap ready for me right now, and I'd like to get settled in myself, so I'll give you half an hour, then start calling you into the office." He nodded at them all, then picked up the briefcase he'd left by the door and strode into the office.

Blair looked down at his hands as the door shut, unclenching them a finger at a time. He didn't say anything to his partner, but he didn't need to; Jim's anger still reverberated through the link, and he took a breath. "Let it go, man," he said, uncurling the last finger and rubbing his hands together. "He's got his reasons, you know."

"You're my partner, Sandburg." The voice was low and dangerous, and the Guide looked up, his eyes caught and held by the fierce gaze. Off in the distance he heard a faint wolf howl, and a furred shadow slipped under the Sentinel's desk.

"I know," he said quietly. "But we're kind of between a rock and a hard place here, Jim. I still think we should tell him, but I'm not that sure it'll help us."

"No," the detective growled, stacking his file folders with more vigor than was needed, "he obviously wants you gone."

"Yeah," Blair agreed, "he does. But I think he might have underestimated how easy it'll be to shove me out."

"He was surprised when no one agreed that you were an innocent," Ellison grunted, then grimaced.

"Hey, man," the anthropologist said, reading the regret easily, "don't go there. My choice, remember, and I made it. No regrets, either."

Jim sighed and nodded. "I know, Chief. And you haven't been an innocent for a while now. I just wish you weren't so determined to get in the line of fire, that's all."

"I don't do it deliberately," the observer protested, smiling. "Anyway, they say that any accident you walk away from is a good one, so I figure I must be doing pretty well. I do walk away from them, even if it takes a while sometimes."

Ellison shook his head. "You're incorrigible, Sandburg." He took a breath, then sobered. "So, we're agreed; we go in with the long-term observer relationship we talked about?"

Blair leaned on the desk, gnawing a knuckle. The back of his neck prickled, and he knew that on the other side of the closed shades in Simon's office a tall figure stood, watching them. "I don't like it, man. I think he meant what he said, about sharing secrets, and in this department, we're it, you know? Everyone here knows there's something special about us, but it works, and for the most part they've learned to look the other way. But he won't."

Jim inhaled, held it, then sighed. "Are you saying we should tell him?"

The anthropologist hesitated. "I don't know what I'm saying. To tell the truth, I think we're screwed either way. I don't think he's going to buy the observer thing, but I'm not so sure he'd believe the truth, either. You're right about that; I think he'd toss us to the guys in the white coats. I mean, who the hell would believe in us, anyway? I had a hard enough time convincing my doctoral committee, and they knew the research." He rubbed his eyes, weariness suddenly swamping him, and he fought not to sway in his seat.

"Chief?" Ellison's voice was low and worried, and he reached to touch the younger man's shoulder.

Blair stifled a yawn and looked up at the Sentinel. "It's nothing, man, just tired, that's all. Guess two nights of sleep aren't enough to make up for what I've missed." He shrugged, glancing across the room, aware of the concern in the eyes of many of the officers as they tried to avoid looking at him. He turned back to Jim, his lips tight. "God, I wish Joel was here."

Jim shrugged and nodded. "With him on our side, we might have a chance, but by the time he comes back next week…" He trailed off, grimacing.

"Didn't the South African police commander promise to pass on the message?"

The detective nodded. "But Joel's off in on an exercise out in the bush with the men he's training, and there's no way to get in touch with him until he reaches a village with a phone, and those are pretty few and far between."

"You can say that again," Blair agreed, leaning back in his chair and trying not to slump. "I spent some time there, and isolation doesn't begin to describe it. And it's not like he could just drop everything and come back once he hears the news anyway. He has stuff to do there."

"Yeah," Jim sighed. "And all I get is the 'no service' message when I try his cell phone." He looked at the anthropologist, his gaze grave. "We're on our own this time, Chief."

"Well," the Guide said, smiling at him, "it's not the first time, and it probably won't be the last. We've weathered other storms; we'll weather this one, too."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

It was an optimism Blair found difficult to hold onto as they stepped into the captain's office a couple of hours later, and he felt Jim's stiffness as the detective moved to sit in one of the two chairs set before the desk. Behind them, the tension in the Bull Pen was clear and sharp, ringing in the shaman's head like a set of discordant chimes, punctuated by the sharp click as the door shut behind them.

The post-doc seated himself beside the Sentinel, moving carefully to keep his balance and not let the ever-present weariness that was starting to gray his world around the edges show to the man watching them with such sharp eyes.

To delay meeting that gaze he glanced around the office, noticing the changes. The desk had been set at an angle to the doorway, and the old coffeepot in the corner was gone, replaced by a coffeemaker with a digital readout. But something major had changed, and it took a few moments to track it down.

There was no scent of cigars.

          That one fact, more than anything else, drove home to Blair that things were different, and suddenly the idea that Simon might not wake up was vivid and strong in his mind, and he sighed, acknowledging the fear at the root of the realization, and doing his best to set it aside. _I woke up; so will he_.[5]

          "So, Jim, long time no see." Honest welcome was clear in the voice, and Ellison unbent enough to smile at the captain.

          "Yes, sir, it has been," he answered, but didn't volunteer any more than that.

          Turner nodded and turned to the shaman. "And you're Blair Sandburg. I've heard a lot about you. All good," he added, smiling.

          "Glad to hear it," Blair replied, finding a smile himself as he acknowledged the humor.

          "The two of you have quite a record, and reputation." The acting captain looked over them, then nodded. "Not typical for an officer teamed with a consultant. How did you two get that good?"

          The two men glanced at each other, then back at the captain. "I couldn't really tell you, sir," Jim answered, honestly enough. "Blair started riding with me, and things between us just… clicked, that's all. He brings a unique perspective to police work. Simon was reluctant at first, but when he saw the results he gave in and supported us."

          Turner leaned back in the chair and studied them. "Us. That's an interesting way to describe the two of you."

          "Blair's my partner," Jim said, and the shaman saw a flicker of surprise in the acting captain's eyes at the solid assurance in his voice.

          "Well, he's certainly racked up enough injuries on the job to qualify," the other man said dryly. "How do you feel about that, Detective?"

          "Not so good, sir," Ellison answered, and the anthropologist knew that the other man also saw the faint wince at the question. He himself drew a quick breath to answer, but halted at Turner's upraised hand, holding the words behind his teeth with an effort.

          "Sandburg's an anthropologist, Ellison," the acting captain said, accenting the occupation. "Not a cop. He has no place in the field, and you know it."

          "I made that choice," Blair interrupted, unable to hide the edge of anger in his voice. "And I made it in full knowledge of what it might entail, and I've never regretted it."

          Turner shifted to look at him, and the post-doc saw again that flicker of surprise. "Why not?" When the younger man didn't immediately answer, he repeated, "Why not, Sandburg? You've been shot numerous times, drugged, kidnapped, assaulted, and otherwise injured. You're a civilian, and you don't even have the training that an officer just out of Academy has. By rights Simon should have booted you out of his office the first time you ended up in trouble, which as I understand from your records was your first day on the job when the terrorists took over the station here." He held up a hand again when Blair opened his mouth, and continued, "Your reactions in that situation were admirable, and under any other circumstances I'd be pleased to call you an officer under my command. You can think on your feet, and your solutions, while unorthodox, tend to work. You're obviously a team player, a good observer of people, and you've built yourself a place in the unit. Your loyalty to Ellison is commendable, and your courage is obvious, but none of that explains why you're here, now." He studied the two of them while Blair fought down his embarrassment. "And frankly, I don't know what to do with you."

The shaman looked up at him, meeting his eyes. "Why not leave it alone, sir? At least give us a chance to show you what we are and how we work. Don't toss what we have to offer without at least a trial. You said yourself that Simon was a good leader, and he backed us. That should count for something."

"It does," Turner answered dryly. "It's the only reason I didn't break the two of you up when I walked in. But even a good leader can make a mistake." He looked at the Sentinel, then back at the anthropologist. "Let me tell you what I see. Jim, you were an excellent officer before the Switchman case, which I gather was when the two of you met. I see no reason why that can't hold true now as well. I think that you were emotionally vulnerable at that point, and that you and Blair became attached then. Sandburg is an anthropologist, and, according to his department, a good one, with a promising career ahead of him in that field. The post-doc fellowship he's on now will be over at the end of this year, and he'll probably start checking out jobs elsewhere, which is how it should be. I figure by that time I'll have you two 'weaned' off each other, and you can each go on with your lives. You'll probably have a great friendship, and that's a good thing, but this team business has got to stop.

"This is what I'm going to do," he said, overriding their objections. "Sandburg can ride along with Jim on patrols that aren't likely to be dangerous. He's not allowed at crime scenes, period, and I don't expect to see him in the Bull Pen more than two or three times a week." He looked at Jim. "You're just going to have to get used to doing your own paperwork again; Blair has more important things to do than this job." He shifted his gaze to the taut shaman. "And frankly, Sandburg, get over this adrenaline kick you're on; if you want to be a cop, go to the Academy."

He leaned back again, studying the two of them. "Dismissed."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Damn, damn, damn!" Jim paused at the French doors, staring through them to the balcony outside, bright and vibrant in the summertime sun. "I don't believe this! I can't even bring my partner to work! Who the hell does he think he is?"

          "Our boss, apparently," Blair pointed out from his seat on the couch. "And he does have a point there. Hey, man," he added as the older man turned an angry glance on him, "don't look at me, I'm just stating facts here. At least you weren't told to stop playing and get back to the real world. He thinks I'm an adrenaline junkie; you're just a cop with an emotional attachment."

          Jim stared at him for a long moment, the muscle in his jaw jumping. "What're we going to do?"

          Blair sighed, wishing that the fog surrounding him would lift. He was so tired. "I don't know," he answered, his own worry over the situation driving a needle of pain through his head. He fought it back with an effort, and looked up at his partner, reading the concern in his eyes without a problem. "It's nothing, man," he said, "just a headache, and given this morning it's not surprising. Anyway. I think we should tell him. I don't think we've got an option now, Jim," he added at the set look on the Sentinel's face. "I mean, he didn't ban us entirely, but he did the next best thing; if I can't go to crime scenes with you, we're screwed, and you know it."

          Ellison grimaced. "Damn it, Sandburg, I used to function just fine at a crime scene; I should be able to pull it off now, too."

          "Oh, for crying out loud," the anthropologist muttered, not caring about the irritated look the words earned him. "Are we gonna have this discussion again? Look, Jim, you're a Sentinel. It's not that you don't have control over your sensory gifts, it's just that they're kind of wacky in today's society. In tribal life I'm sure the Sentinel could go off without his Guide sometimes, and it worked just fine, and a lot of the time it does for you, too. But there's always going to be that one time where something sends them screwy, and when that happens you know as well as I do what kind of zone-out it can send you into."

          He paused to breathe, trying not to pant as black spots peppered the glass doors behind Jim, and watched as the man turned to stare out at the balcony again, his shoulders stiff. "I'm sorry, man," he added when the detective didn't say anything. "I know how you hate being out of control, but that's what I'm there to do – give you back control. It's that macho image all of us are trained to uphold that's bothering you, but I thought we got past that a while ago."

          The ex-Ranger was silent, then sighed, and turning, came over and sat beside his partner on the couch. "Yeah, we did. Sorry, Chief. It's just– I know this man, and I even like him, most of the time. And I can see how it looks to him, 'cause that's what I thought when this started. Seeing that look in his eyes…" He trailed off, and Blair tapped his hand with a fist.

          "Hey, makes sense, man," he said, sighing. "We're out of practice dealing with that look, you know? Simon and Joel thought of us that way in the beginning, but they grew out of it, and they're the only ones in the department who know about us. Except Kane," he added, referring to the younger officer who'd ended up working with them on at least one occasion.[6] "But we haven't had to deal with that set of assumptions in a while, and it can get to us."

          "You, too?" Jim asked, not quite looking at him.

          "Oh, sure," the Guide agreed. "I don't like being accused of not living in the real world any more than you like being thought of as weak. Hell, the man actually had the audacity to try to tell me my job as an anthropologist!"

He couldn't keep the anger out of his voice, and Ellison chuckled, ruffling his hair. "Guess we are in the same boat, then," he said, smiling. "You still think we should tell him, though."

It wasn't a question, and Blair hesitated, then nodded, trying not to waver as his balance teetered at the move. Jim's arm was immediately behind him, and he leaned into it gratefully. "Yeah," he said, trying not to yawn. "I do. We can prove your senses exist, with or without Joel, and that should be enough to win us at least a tentative okay on our work."

"But my senses just prove that I exist," Ellison pointed out. "Not that you do." The anthropologist opened his mouth, then shut it, stymied, and the Sentinel pressed on. "And you're the one we need to prove something about. Me, yes, we can prove that my senses exist, and that they're special, but your place as Guide… That's something else, Chief. Remember how hard Simon fought that?"

Blair heard the tightness behind the name, and swallowed, nodding.

"We need someone who can testify to our teamwork, and Kane's too junior to count. Simon never kept official records about us, you know, especially about you. Without Joel or someone like him, we're screwed."

The younger man closed his eyes, snuggling back into the warm body behind him. "I never knew that Simon was that careful," he muttered.

"Sure he was, Sandburg," Jim said, his voice low as he settled the shaman into his shoulder and started to smooth his hair. "Why do you think he was so reluctant to cover your bills? He had to get creative about it every time, until finally Kathy down in Accounting told him not to worry about it, that you deserved coverage when you got hurt in the service of your city, and after that it was okay. Even as a consultant to the department you were never supposed to be in the field as much as you have been. And there've never been any records of what you've done with me."

"Guess that makes sense," Blair murmured, relaxing under the gentle stroking. "But it does leave us… with a… problem." He yawned, and felt the Sentinel smile.

"We'll deal with it later," he promised. "After you take a nap."

"Don't need a nap," Sandburg slurred. "I'm 'wake."

"Sure you are," Ellison agreed. "Wide awake. Go to sleep, Chief. I'll be right here."

"Promise?" The word slipped out before the shaman could censor it, and he grimaced.

"I promise," the detective said thoughtfully. "Go to sleep."

Blair curled into him and relaxed, gray shadows sweeping over him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Well, Simon, it's pretty bad." Blair's sober comment echoed a little in the hospital room, and he sighed, looking down at the man in the bed. Banks lay as still as when the anthropologist had been here last, two days earlier. "I'm sorry it took me a while to get back here; Jim's pretty much been a bulldog about keeping me away, but hey, all I had to do was wait until he was on duty and then it's easy. And anyway, I've got enough of my own research done for the moment that I can take a break." He shoved the memory of watching Jim climb into his truck and start out on his day, fighting back the desolation that threatened to swamp him again as the image rose before his inner eye. Jim's set look of anger hadn't helped, either.

He shook his head, wandering over to stare out the window, his hands shoved into his pockets. "Damn, Simon, I never guessed how easy we had it with you. I tell you, I'll never complain about you again, if you'll just wake up." Glancing back over his shoulder, he eyed the limp figure and grimaced. "Gee, man, the least you could do is wake up after an offer like that, I mean, you're not going to hear that one every day!"

He wandered back to the bed, seating himself in the chair and sighing as he relaxed. "And I don't know what to do," he said, studying the captain's relaxed face. "I just don't think that Turner's going to listen to us. Proving Jim's senses are real isn't a problem, but proving that I'm part of the package, well, that's different."

Leaning back, he closed his eyes, then forced them open as exhaustion swept down on him. "Damn, I'm tired of being tired," he muttered, forgetting Simon's presence for a moment, then blinked back at the man. "Sorry," he apologized, "I know how you feel about complainers. And I still feel like you're the key, somehow, even though I don't know why. Maybe part of it is because it always seems like it's darker here than everyone tells me it is. Somehow, you're important in all of this, but I don't know how."

He shook his head, biting his lip. "But something's wrong, Simon, something big. I haven't had any nightmares for a few nights, but it seems like all my dreams are full of darkness, and I can't see a thing."

He hesitated, then sighed. "And I'm really starting to wonder why I'm so tired all the time. I've been shot before, and had pneumonia before, and other injuries, too, and even if I've never had the two of them one right after another, I don't think that this is natural. It's only going to be a matter of time before Jim starts making that connection, too, and then he'll want to drag me to the doctor again." He took a long, deep breath, then exhaled. "And I don't think this has anything to do with something physical. I think it's a 'shaman thing,' as you call it," he added, a faint smile quirking his lips. "I don't know if it's an aftereffect of something, or if I'm under attack, or what, but I don't think it's normal."

He scrubbed his hands over his face, then lowered them, watching the slight shake that ran through them. "And I can't seem to shield against it, either. I've tried, and nothing I do works. The only time I seem to sleep normally now is when Jim's right there, and I'm sure not going to tell him that! I don't want to sound like a kid who needs a nightlight, for crying out loud." He paused, taking a tired breath. "Anyway, I thought–"

"You thought that you'd ignore what I said about you coming down with something else was so much fiction, right?" Alan's voice was stern, and Blair jumped, turning to watch the doctor push the door open further and step inside.

"Huh."

Rivers sighed, halting beside him. "Look, Blair, right now your immune system is struggling to recover–"

"I'm not going to just walk out and leave him alone all the time," Sandburg said flatly. "I won't do it, Alan. He's my friend. He was there for me every time I needed him. I'm not walking out on him now. And nothing you can do or say is going to make me."

The doctor was silent a moment, then shook his head. "All right, how about a compromise? You can visit once a day for half an hour, though if it was every other day I'd be happier. That'll at least cut down on the exposure time. And I want you to promise that you'll tell me if you start feeling sick again, at all." He looked evenly at the anthropologist. "Deal?"

Blair hesitated, weighing his options, then nodded. "Deal."

"Good," Alan smiled. "And you've already had your time today, so it's time to leave."

The shaman grimaced, then nodded, glancing back at the captain. "Okay. I think you're up to speed, Simon. I'll see you tomorrow. But hey, man, I really wish you'd wake up now, okay? Not just for Jim and me," he added as he stood, keeping a hand on the back of the chair, "but just because, you know?"

He patted Banks' shoulder and turned, Alan behind him as he headed toward the door.

 

[1] See novella _Seize the Moment_.

[2] See the story "Crossing the Edges of Reality," in _Sensory Overload #4_.

[3] See the novella _Seize the Moment_.

[4] See novella _Seize the Moment_.

[5] See "Crossing the Edge of Reality," in _Sensory Overload #4_.

[6] See "Truth Is the Only Reality," in _Sensory Overload 5_.


	2. Chapter 2

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair slammed the car to a skidding halt in the parking lot beside Jim's truck, just avoiding one of the police cars. Pausing only to rummage through his backpack, set on the seat beside him, he then scrambled out of the vehicle, running toward the crime scene at top speed, his fingers tight around the tube.

          Police tape flapped in the slight breeze, its edge crowded by onlookers. Blair threw himself through the throng, not noticing how it opened for him, or how officers stepped aside as he ducked under the tape and sprinted toward the knot of people next to one wall of the large house.

          He reached them just as Jim collapsed, falling sideways from his knees, his eyes closing as Blair slid to a halt beside him.

          The Guide dropped to his knees, ripping off the gray safety seal from the epi-pen and pushing it against the Sentinel's thigh. The click as the spring-loaded needle released was drowned out by the harsh exclamation above him.

          "Sandburg! What the hell–?"

          "Let him be, Captain," Rafe said, stepping in front of the oblivious anthropologist. "He knows his job with Jim."

          Brown joined him, both of them standing stubbornly still under Turner's furious glare. Behind them, Jim's harsh wheezes suddenly eased, dropping into normal breaths, and Blair sighed, extracting the needle and sliding it back into the tube. An ambulance pulled up, discharging paramedics who followed officers' gestures to Jim, quickly surrounding him and Blair, who held up the tube wordlessly as he pushed himself to his feet.

          "Good thinking, Blair," the chief paramedic said, watching as his men checked Jim over. "How bad was it?"

          "He'd just passed out when he got it," the anthropologist answered, panting, his shoulders hunched as he tried to breathe.

          The man's eyebrows went up. "It's not like you to wait this long to administer it; both of you know better. You weren't with him?"

          Blair shook his head, feeling Turner's stare on the back of his neck. "No."

          "Umm. Well, good thing for him you got here soon enough; probably saved his life, again." He studied the younger man. "Blair, are you all right? You're pale and sweating."

          Blair dragged in a long breath, trying to stand up straighter. "It's nothing, Rob, really. I'm a few weeks past a case of pneumonia, that's all."

          "I see," he frowned. "I thought you got shot."

          Blair shrugged. "Came home from the hospital with it."

          Rob shook his head. "Well, you take it easy. Sit down, rest, let your body catch up a little, okay? At least Jim doesn't have this kind of reaction often."

          "Yeah," the anthropologist said, a faint smile touching his lips. "I'll try to have him drop by and get checked out, 'cause you know he won't let you take him in."

          The man clapped him gently on the shoulder. "Yeah, I know. But I have to hear it from him."

          "Chief?"

          The anthropologist looked down to find Jim sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

"What're you doing here?" He noticed the paramedic standing beside the younger man and grimaced. "Leave me alone, Rob, I'm not going to the hospital."

Rob rolled his eyes, shook his head, and walked away, motioning to his people to follow him as he headed toward the ambulance. "Come on, guys, let's go."

Ellison watched them leave, then glanced back at his Guide. "What're you doing here?" he repeated.

          Blair sighed and dropped to sit beside him, absently noticing that Turner had moved away, and was now standing at the other end of the porch, although he was still watching them. "Heard you."

          Jim knuckled his eyes again, then studied him. "You heard me?"

          The Guide nodded, still panting slightly.

          Ellison stared at him, then sighed. "Sorry."

          Blair lifted one shoulder, let it drop. "Hey, man, that's what the link is for, you know? So that if something happens, the other will know, and be there."

          "Yeah," the detective agreed, cupping his hands over his eyes and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

          Blair eyed him and grimaced. "So, what happened? You don't usually come up with an allergic response this strong. What hit you?"

          "Don't know," the older man grunted, not uncovering his eyes. "Something here set it off, and it just got worse. I kept hoping it would just go away, but…" He let it trail off, hunching his shoulders, and Blair frowned as he saw a shiver ripple through him.

          "What was it? A smell, taste, something you saw? Come on, work with me here, Jim. It's not over yet."

          Ellison uncovered one eye and stared at him, then winced and closed it. "Damn, damn, damn, Sandburg, not here!"

          "'Fraid so, big guy," Blair said grimly. "Now come on, talk to me, before you get lost in the sensory overload."

          "Hell," the detective whispered, "everything's going white and– Okay, uh, it was a smell, something familiar about it. Male. It was male. Husky, sweaty, uh–" He shook his head, sliding his hands over to press over his ears, and Blair scowled as a siren swung up a nearby street, its sound spiraling up in volume until it passed.

          "Come on, Jim, stay with me here," he said, dropping his voice to the intense low tone he'd come to think of as his Guide voice. "What else can you tell me about the smell that set you off?"

          "Smells," the Sentinel hissed, his hands still over his ears. He leaned forward, hunched against the shivers that were starting to shake through him. "More than one. Perfume. Sweet, almost plastic. Mixed." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Damn it, Chief. I can't– hold–"

          "What's happening?" the Guide asked, moving to kneel on his knees before the man. "Talk to me!" he barked when Jim shook his head.

          "Smells… everywhere… Too hot, sweet… Light bright… Fuzzy… Can't hear… Chaos… Everything… white. Too high. Sharp… Can't…" His eyes went wide and blank, his hands falling into his lap.

          "Shit," Blair swore, leaning forward to grab his shoulder and shake him. "Don't you go there, Jim! Listen to me! It's my voice in your ears, my heartbeat, my breathing, just me, do you hear me?"

          Nothing.

          Not wasting a beat, Blair shifted tactics, reaching forward to hold a hand over Jim's nose, trying to ignore the fact that he didn't feel a breath against it. "My smell, Jim, come on, just me, my skin, my sweat, my…" He let it trail off as it became obvious that Jim wasn't responding.

          "Can I help, Blair?" Kane's voice was very quiet, and Blair glanced up at him. "I mean, you're his Guide, but maybe a stranger's voice…"

          Blair scrambled to his feet, paced a couple of strides, then whirled, his lips very straight. "Hold him."

          Kane hesitated, then knelt behind Jim, hands on his shoulders. "Like this?"

          Blair nodded, once, then took a deep breath and hit Jim across the face. Kane blanched, but held on as Ellison's body swayed backward. The Sentinel's expression never altered.

          "Sandburg!"

          Blair didn't glance up at the shout, just swung again, his open hand catching Jim across the other cheek.

          "What the hell are you doing?" a voice roared, and the anthropologist dodged the angry hands reaching for him without looking, all his attention on his partner.

          "Come on, Jim," he muttered, clenching his fist and hitting Jim in the eye. "Damn it, come on!"

          Hands jerked him away, slamming him into the stone wall of the house behind him, and Blair gasped, doubling over as the just-healed gunshot wound stabbed across his side and through his ribs. For a moment little white stars danced across the sky, and then they were gone, and he stared into the furious blue eyes of David Turner.

          "I don't know what the hell kind of relationship you have with my officer," the man bit out, his fingers digging into Blair's shoulders, "but you're not going to have it after this!" He shoved the anthropologist at two officers stepping toward him. "Book him for assault!"

          "Blair!" Kane's voice drew their attention back to the focus of the argument. "He's not breathing!"

          "God damn it!" Blair swore, then bucked in the officers' hands, twisting like a seal and diving toward Ellison the moment he was free. Without hesitating he drew back a foot and kicked Jim in the ribs, gritting his teeth as he fell to his knees before the Sentinel, grabbing his hands. _Jim, come back, please!_

          The tackle that took him to the ground was rough and hard, and this time the little white stars had rainbow edges. He came out of it to find his hands locked behind his back, cold metal cutting into his wrists and straining his shoulders back.

          "Get him out of here!" Turner's voice commanded over the rising hubbub around them. "Get those medics back here! Just what the hell did he do?"

          Hands jerked him upright, pain streaking from his shoulder down his side, and he would have fallen if the rough grips holding him hadn't been so tight.

          He staggered as they shoved him forward, unable to look up as he passed the officers he knew. He couldn't face the shock and condemnation he knew would be in their eyes.

          He had failed. Jim was dying, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. And it was all his fault. If he had been with the Sentinel when the sensory assault hit, he might have been able to head off the allergic reaction, avoided the use of the epi-pen, and wouldn't have needed to deal with the sensory overload result.

          He had failed.

          "Arrrrrghhh!"

          The roar caught Blair by surprise, and he looked up just in time to see Jim barrel out of the group of officers surrounding him, tossing Turner aside like a paper doll when the man tried to stop him. Two steps later Jim straight-armed the two officers holding the anthropologist, breaking their grips with one gigantic shove and snatching the keys from one as he hastily backed away.

          Blair staggered as the men loosed him, and a quick arm took their place, steadying him as the key twisted and the cuffs fell into the dirt. Jim tossed the key after them, and steered him toward the parking lot.

          "Ellison!"

          Jim didn't hesitate at the bellow behind him, but Blair pulled back, stumbling forward again as the man beside him never halted. "Come on, man," the anthropologist whispered – he couldn't find a stronger voice in himself – "you can't just walk away from him. He's–"

          "A goddamn fool, that's what he is," Jim growled, not bothering to lower his voice.

          "Ellison!" Turner stepped in front of them, legs planted, fists resting on his hips. "Sandburg's under arrest, and you're–"

          "I'm _fine_ ," Jim barked, raising a hand to knock the man aside. Turner staggered back a step, then halted, bracing himself. "No thanks to you! And the only place my _partner's_ going is home with me! Now, get the hell out of my way!"

          "Detective." Turner didn't move, and Ellison loosed Blair and stepped forward, leaning into the man's face.

"You fucking asshole, if it hadn't been for Sandburg–"

          The words receded into an explosive muttering, and Blair blinked around. The world was much whiter than it should be, and although he stood just behind Jim, all he could hear of the heated conversation was a low drone. A slight breeze shook him, and he wavered, trying to keep his feet as sudden darkness roared down on him from all four directions.

"Jim." His whisper was soft, but Ellison whirled, catching him as he fell, and the last thing he felt was the strong arms lifting him, cradling him against the broad chest, and then the world went away.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Captain?"

          The word echoed in the silence, and standing in the doorway to Turner's office, Blair could feel the held breaths of the detectives in the Bull Pen behind him resonating through his own tight chest.

          Turner looked up, startlement quick and gone in his eyes as he saw the anthropologist. There was another look in his gaze as well, one that Blair couldn't read. "Yes?" His tone was neutral, and Blair swallowed, forcing himself on.

          "I need to talk with you," he said baldly, hoping that his desperate grip on the doorframe wasn't obvious.

          The acting captain inclined his head. "Come in. And close the door."

          The anthropologist stepped inside the room, closing the door without looking back into the Bull Pen, and stood still, glad that the man looking at him with the unreadable gaze wasn't a Sentinel and couldn't hear the heartbeat slamming through him.

          "Sit down."

          Blair moved over to the chairs, trying not to collapse into the familiar seat. _God, Simon, I miss you! This is it. If I can't explain this in some way that he can understand, that he can accept, then Jim's job is toast, and we're royally screwed._

          "You came to explain yesterday."

The statement was not quite a question, but the anthropologist heard the faint quizzical note in it, and he took a deep breath, trying not to cough as the move lifted his sore ribs. "Yeah."

Turner leaned forward, his gaze steady. "So explain."

Blair nodded. "Jim Ellison is a Sentinel, and I'm his Guide." He inhaled, meeting the unblinking gaze fastened on him. "I know that doesn't make much sense, so bear with me while I try to explain. In all tribal societies, they had what were called the watchman, someone who watched for approaching enemies, changes in the weather, the movement of game. Tribal survival depended on them." He felt the echo in the room and swallowed, then forced himself on. "My doctorate was on Sentinels, but until I found Jim, I thought they were all just myth and legend. A Sentinel is chosen because of a genetic advantage, a sensory awareness that can be raised beyond that of ordinary people."

He met the enigmatic gaze, holding it. "Jim can see, hear, smell, touch, and taste beyond the normal boundaries of what we consider human today. But the gifts come with a price tag. They're essentially wild talents, and in today's chaotic, noisy society, a Sentinel can go mad from the sensory barrage."

"And this is where you come in."

Blair nodded. "A Sentinel always had a partner in tribal society, someone who could watch his back when he needed, break him out of zone-outs, care for him when he needed it."

"But, by your own description, these Sentinels were superheroes," Turner pointed out. "Why would they need anyone to watch their backs? Particularly someone who wasn't like them?"

The anthropologist shook his head. "Because ordinary senses can't be screwed up like the Sentinel gifts. A Sentinel can be distracted by some noise too far away for an ordinary human to hear it, and because of that distraction he can miss the enemy standing two paces in front of him. That's where the partner comes in. My job is to give Jim back some of the control he sometimes loses."

"So you guard his back."

The tone was still as neutral as ever, and the blue eyes watching him just as shuttered. Blair swallowed. Did the man believe him or didn't he?

"Yes."

Turner studied him for a long moment, then looked down at what appeared to be a letter. Blair could see the salutation, but the handwritten scrawl was past his deciphering, even though he could usually read upside down with ease.

"This has got to be the craziest story I've ever heard."

The shaman's heart sank.

Turner raised his head again, his gaze hard on the younger man. "The absolute nuttiest scheme ever." He paused, then glanced down at the letter again and back. "And if I didn't have a letter in Simon's own hand, telling me the same thing, and Joel Taggert's testimony to back it up, I wouldn't believe a word of it."

Blair took a breath and choked on it. "What letter?"

"You didn't know about it."

The anthropologist shook his head, wordless, and Turner almost smiled. "I didn't think so." He rested his chin on his hand and studied Blair, and for the first time the younger man didn't see the hard glint in his eyes. "He left it with Joel to give to anyone who had to step into his place. But neither he nor Taggert figured on Joel not being here when something happened to Simon, and that nearly proved the undoing of all of us."

"Joel's back?"

Turner inclined his head. "He returned last night, and came straight to me with the letter. He had a lot to say about the two of you."

Blair felt his cheeks burn, and looked away.

"Sandburg."

The anthropologist dragged his gaze away from the coffeepot in the corner, meeting the blue gaze.

"This is obviously real, and we need to talk about it, all of us. I still don't understand it, and I definitely don't like it, but it appears we're stuck with it. So let's all meet at the Blue Café down the street tomorrow at nine."

Unable to find any words to answer, the shaman nodded, and Turner nodded back. "Good. I'm not happy with yesterday, but it appears that this was a major misunderstanding from the start, and I'm willing to try starting our relationship all over again. You can tell Ellison that."

Blair cleared his throat. "I'll do that."

"And now you'd better get out of here before he figures out that this is where you are and comes to rescue you from the lion's den."

The Guide took a deep breath as he met the steady gaze, seeing the faint twinkle there, and smiled. "Yeah, I'd better."

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow."

"We'll be there," Blair promised, pushing himself to his feet and reaching for the door.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

          "You told him what?"

          "I told him about us," Blair repeated doggedly, trying to ignore the hard grip on his shoulders and the narrow-eyed glare slicing through him. "He had to know, Jim."

          "The hell he did!" The Sentinel dropped him on the couch – gently – and whirled to pace across the living room.

The anthropologist settled gratefully into the cushions and watched him, understanding the fury behind the hard strides. When Turner had dragged Blair away from Jim and tried to arrest him, the acting captain had come between a Sentinel and his Guide, and Ellison was still going on pure instinct a day later, trying to protect Blair against any and all comers, especially Turner. It had taken all of Sandburg's own stubborn intelligence to manage escape earlier that morning, and he'd had to resort to half-truths that wouldn't set off the detective's innate lie detector mode. But it was time to rejoin the world outside, and Blair intended to do just that.

"He's your boss," he said, testing.

          "Not any more!"

          The rejection was just as hot as it had been earlier that morning, and Blair decided not to meet it head-on. "He wants to meet with us."

          "Over my dead body!"

          "Joel's back."

          That got a reaction, as Jim turned to stare at him, then stalked over to glare out the French doors, his back stiff.

          "Seems that Simon left a letter about us with Joel," the shaman said into the taut silence. "Guess he was supposed to give it to anyone who stepped into Simon's place, but Joel wasn't here to do that." He shrugged, eyeing the panther that slunk across the carpet and vanished into the shadows of the giant fern in the corner. "So when Joel got home yesterday, he went over and gave the letter to Turner, and they talked."

          There was no visible reaction from the Sentinel, although Blair could see the muscle jumping in Jim's jaw in profile. But he was listening, and the anthropologist took a breath and went on.

          "He told me it was obviously real, and although he didn't like it, he couldn't ignore it, either, and that he'd like us all to meet at the Blue Café tomorrow at nine."

          "Us and Joel and him?"

          "That was the way it sounded," Blair answered, choosing the words carefully. He waited, but it became obvious that Jim wasn't going to respond, and he sighed silently, knowing the Sentinel heard him, and added, "I think we should be there."

          "Chief–"

          "Jim," the shaman interrupted, hearing the waning anger in the name, "we can't just leave this. He's trying to meet us halfway; the least we owe him is to do the same."

          Ellison was silent, then turned and came over to the couch, seating himself beside Blair and they sat for a long moment. "Damn it, Chief. I can't let it go, not that easily. I just can't."

          Blair looked up at him, his gaze shadowed for a moment as it rested on the black eye that Jim sported, then he punched him lightly on the arm. "Hey, man, he got between a Sentinel and his Guide. That's against all the rules, and you can't forget it. I didn't say we had to trust him, at least not right away. I'm not that forgiving, either – his rules almost got you killed." His eyes hardened, and he felt Jim glance down at him, then away, nodding. "But I say we go, give it a try. After all, Jim, you have to give him his due; remember how you felt when you started all this. I distinctly recall things like 'neo-hippy, witch doctor, punk' and being accused of being a drug user. Not to mention being slammed up against a wall." He eyed the flush climbing Jim's throat and grinned. "All in all, Turner's actually doing pretty well acknowledging that it's real this soon in the game. Can't blame him for not liking it. Simon doesn't– didn't like it either."

          Both of them were silent a moment, then Jim shook himself. "You're right," he said, a determined cheer to his voice. "I guess we'll just wait and see how it goes tomorrow."

          "Yeah," Blair said quietly. "Tomorrow's soon enough."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Incoming," Blair said softly as Turner and Joel both entered the café the next morning. He felt Jim stiffen and deliberately bumped his shoulder with his own. "Easy."

          Ellison inhaled and held it, then released it as the two men neared their table, rising with his partner as Blair stood.

          "Hey, man!" the anthropologist said, turning a warm smile on Joel and stepping forward to shake his hand. "Long time no see! Hope it went well, and that leaving early didn't cause you a problem."

          Joel clapped him on the shoulder, then shook hands with Jim, sharing a smile with the Sentinel. "No," he answered, pulling out a chair to seat himself, the move matched by the silent captain beside him, "the guys there learn quick, so I could move out once I got the news."

          There was a brief silence as Simon's absence rippled through them, and then Joel cleared his throat. "So, I understand there was some trouble yesterday. What happened?"

          Blair traded glances with Jim, and nodded. The detective shrugged. "Something at the crime scene set off my senses, and I passed out."

          The anthropologist rolled his eyes. "I think he wanted to know more than that, big guy." He looked back at Joel, his gaze flicking now and again to the captain. "From what I could figure out, several scents mixed and gave Jim the equivalent of an allergic reaction, and he went into anaphylaxis. I got there just as he passed out and gave him the epi-pen, but that caused its own problems."

          "Seems to me I remember the last time that happened you ended up sitting with him as he dug his way out of a light coma," Joel said, frowning.

          Sandburg sighed. "Yeah. It's never the same scenario twice, so I wasn't sure how his system would handle it this time, but I figured it was better than being dead, whatever it would be."

          "What did happen?" Turner's question was soft, but it still jarred the established rhythm of the three friends.

          Blair took a breath. "Well, from what I managed to get before Jim zoned-out, I think that the epinephrine sent all his senses into hyperdrive, bouncing around like ping pong balls. His mind couldn't handle the sensory overload, so it just shut down."

          "And what happens if he stays in this state?"

          "I die," Jim answered, staring at the captain. "Is that good enough for you?"

          "Damn it, Jim," Blair snapped, "stop that! Just remember that you weren't very good at accepting this either when it started, will you?"

          Ellison rubbed a hand over his face and looked away, and Turner grimaced.

          "Shall we just declare a truce for the moment?" he asked. "From what Joel told me, I understand that I stepped in the middle of something pretty powerful yesterday, and I'm sorry. But if we're going to be working together for a while, I need to understand this Sentinel thing, and we need to start building something between us now."

          "No," Jim said abruptly, turning to look at him, "you don't need to understand the 'Sentinel thing.' It's the Guide's part that you need to know about."

          Their eyes met, and the acting captain nodded a little, while Blair blinked at them.

"What do you mean he doesn't need to understand the Sentinel thing?" he protested. "Sure he does. That's the key to everything."

          "No, Chief," his partner replied, "you're the key. You're what it's all about."

          "Are you crazy, man? What're you talking about? Your senses make you special. I'm just an anthropologist with a love of myth and legend. What we need–"

          "What we need, Sandburg," Ellison said, overriding his words, "is for him to understand your place in the scheme of things. Me he knows."

          "But–"

          "He's right, Blair," Joel said, the solid affirmative blocking the shaman's objection. "Think about it."

          "When all is said and done," Jim added, "I'm just a cop. I have enhanced senses, yeah, but I use them to go after bad guys. That's what cops do."

          "Yeah, but–"

          "You, on the other hand," the Sentinel continued, "are what holds me together each and every day. If I fall, you're there to pick me up. If I don't understand how something works, you explain it. If something goes wrong, you're there to fix it. You're the wonderworker in my life, Sandburg, and without you the Sentinel is dead in the water. Or just dead."

          Blair winced, looking up with wide eyes. "But–"

          "No buts. That's the way it is. I have a place in the Force, and I can fill it. We have to build one for you."

          "Again," Joel put in, smiling at Blair's confused blush. "Appreciate this, Dave," he said in an aside to Turner, who was watching the two men with a faint smile, "because you won't see it again for a while – Jim putting Blair in his place. It's usually the other way around."

          "Uh," Blair said, trying not to sound as nonplused as he felt.

          "Sandburg," Jim said, his gaze keen on his partner, "I remember Incacha telling me once, before I left the jungle, that a Sentinel's first and strongest priority was protecting his Guide. I didn't understand it then, but it makes sense with everything else you've told me."

          The anthropologist blinked at him. "Incacha told you that? You never mentioned it to me. Jim, don't you know that everything Incacha told you in the jungle is priceless? How am I supposed to do research if you don't tell me everything you remember about that time? We need to go back and talk about that time; maybe there's other things there that you don't–"

          "No," Jim said, the word a solid block of the post-doc's rush of words. "I told you everything you needed to know about that time. You didn't need to know what he said about you. End of discussion, Sandburg."

          "Not on your life! If you forgot one thing maybe you forgot others. We need to know–"

          "No. And I didn't say I forgot it, Chief. I said that you didn't need to know about it." He caught Turner's frown and flicked him a glance. "Hell, sir, I have to live with him. He doesn't need any more ammunition than he already has."

          "I see your point," the acting captain said dryly over Blair's sputters. "So, enlighten me. What's a 'Guide'?"

          There was a moment of silence too full of thought to be called quiet, and then Blair shook his head. "I already told you about what a Sentinel's partner does, sir, and that really covers the whole idea, as far as I'm concerned."

          "Sandburg," the man replied patiently, "that gives me a theory, but I need to understand how it works between you and Jim. For one thing, I don't understand why someone else can't do this job instead of you, someone who's a cop and a friend to Jim. What makes you so special that it has to be your life on the line out there?"

          Blair blinked at him, wordless, and the Sentinel sighed. "Because it won't work."

          "Why not?"

          Jim shrugged. "Because it won't."

          Turner looked briefly to heaven. "Work with me here, Ellison. _Why_ won't it?"

          "I can answer that," Joel said, watching as the two men stared at each other. "Because no one else can do what Blair can do. Dave," he added as the man opened his mouth again, clearly frustrated, "I asked that question in the beginning, too, before I'd seen what happened when Sandburg wasn't there to take the heat and someone else had to step in."

          He paused, then smiled faintly. "Remember, Jim? You zoned on something that evening Simon and I met you for dinner, a few weeks after we took down Thompson, and I tried to wake you up from it?"

          Ellison winced. "Yeah."

          Joel shook his head, turning his gaze to Turner. "It was about a year after I'd found out, and Simon and I were treating him to dinner one night after a successful case. We'd invited Blair, too," he added, glancing at the anthropologist, who nodded, "but he had something going on at the university that evening and couldn't make it."

          He leaned back in his chair, his tone musing. "Simon was late; traffic accident slowed him down on the freeway, so Jim and I were alone for about twenty minutes. We were sitting outside, and it was a nice summer evening, not too many customers to make it noisy, and we sat there, sipping our drinks and talking." He paused, then continued, all humor leached from his tone. "I'm not even sure what set him off. One minute everything was fine, the next –bam – he was gone. I thought I could pull him out of it. Hell, I'd watched Blair do it several times by then, and he made it look so easy." He snorted. "Stupid, stupid notion."

Taggert's lips tightened. "I shook him, I shouted at him, I grabbed some flowers from a nearby pot and almost shoved them up his nose. Nothing. He didn't even blink." He glanced around at them, noting Jim's uncomfortable look and the way that the shaman shifted a little closer to him. Turner was listening intently.

"You know," Joel mused, "I've never seen Blair reduced to hitting Jim to get through to him." He flicked a glance at the captain and added, "Yesterday was an aberration, believe me, Dave. If Sandburg had been there from the beginning, I guarantee you he wouldn't've had to do that." He shook his head. "I reached that point in five minutes. I knew enough, from what Simon had said, to know that if I didn't get through to Jim soon, he was going to stop breathing, and I was starting to get scared. People were staring at us, sirens were coming our way, and I knew someone had called the cops on us for disturbing the peace. I knew I had to get him back before they came barreling in on us, and nothing I could think of was working."

He stopped to sip his drink, and Turner watched him, finally asking, "What happened?"

"Blair happened," Joel said succinctly, putting his glass down. "I don't pretend to understand how he knew, but he was suddenly there, panting. He vaulted into the outdoor patio we were sitting on, backpack and all, and skidded to a stop by our table. And within seconds he had Jim awake and aware, and when the cops arrived we were all sitting down like we were just three friends out for an evening meal." He glanced at the young shaman, whose head was bent, the flush high in his cheeks. "You remember that, Sandburg?"

The anthropologist nodded, not looking up.

"How'd you know what to do?"

Blair shrugged, finally lifting his head when Jim nudged him. "I just knew."

Joel held his eyes, then nodded, looking back to Turner. "And that's why no one else can stand in Blair's shoes. Whatever that 'just knowing' is is what makes a Guide, and no one else can pull it off."

Turner studied them all for a long moment, his gaze lingering on the still-embarrassed post-doc. "Okay. I can accept that. I don't understand it, but I accept it. But I still need to know some things. Joel said you were there that evening without being told Jim was in trouble, and the day before yesterday, you were at the crime scene, also without being told. So give me some examples. How'd you know Ellison was in trouble, back then and now?"

          Blair squirmed, exchanging helpless glances with the Sentinel, and Joel grinned. "Hey, kids, you better tell all. Dave, I know you read science fiction as a kid; I hope you still do, because these two are everything science fiction and fantasy are about."

          "Such as?"

          "Well," Joel drawled, his lips quirked, "for one thing, they read each other's minds on a regular basis." He saw the skeptical hike of Turner's eyebrows and shook his head, abruptly serious. "It's for real. Deadly real, in their case. I've lost track of the times one of them has known about the other being hurt, and not just in a general sort of way, but details, specifics, locations. They have something that some partnerships would pay to have. Something I wouldn't be surprised the government would love to have."

          "Don't remind me," the anthropologist grumbled. "Been there, done that, too many times."

          "So, some kind of telepathy?" Turner's voice was neutral, and Jim scowled at him.

          "Yeah," he growled. "I always know where Sandburg is, and if something goes wrong with him."

          "Likewise," Blair answered as the dark glance swept over him. "I call it the link, or the bond. But whatever we call it, it works."

          "So, tell me about this last time," the acting captain requested. "When did you know something was wrong, and how much did you know?"

          The anthropologist frowned, searching backward. "I was on campus, and I started to feel uneasy. That usually means something's wrong with Jim, so I went looking for him."

          "'Went looking for him'? How?" the acting captain questioned, grimacing.

          "I closed my eyes and, uh, reached for him," Blair answered, a slight flush climbing his cheeks. "He wasn't answering, but I could get a better sense of what was happening, so I 'listened' for a minute. It got worse, and I started to pack up my stuff and headed back to the car. By the time I reached it, I was pretty sure that Jim was having an allergic reaction, and I drove as fast as I could to the crime scene. The rest you know."

          "How'd you know where the crime scene was?" Turner asked, tossing a frowning glance to Joel.

          The shaman shrugged. "Because Jim was there. I just knew," he added as the acting captain's frown grew.

          "That's an answer you're going to hear a lot of," Joel rumbled, a faint, serious smile backing the words. "Gotta get used to it. It doesn't get any more real than this," he added at Turner's disbelieving look.

          The acting captain shook his head, grimacing. "Damn it, I don't expect to live in the Twilight Zone. How the hell can I believe this is real?"

          "Because it is," Jim said, all the anger suddenly gone from his words, and he met the other man's eyes straight on, leaning forward. "If you're going to be our captain, even for a short while, this is something you have to know and deal with – Blair Sandburg is absolutely crucial to my sanity. He's my Guide, and I'm his Sentinel, and there is nothing, nothing in this world more powerful than that bond."

          The detective leaned back, aware of Blair's surprised approval, of Joel's wondering stare, but most of all of the dark blue eyes meeting his own, and the two men studied each other, the acting captain thoughtful, the Sentinel driven, both of them caught in the moment like flies in amber.

          "All right," Turner said finally, glancing at Blair and Joel. "I believe this. I even believe it's real. But I'm not sure what to do about it." He looked back at Jim. "What do you suggest?"

          Ellison took a deep breath. "Leave us alone."

          "Let us do our job," Blair said, no smile in his voice. "It might drive you nuts sometimes, but just let us work things our way."

          Turner studied them for a long moment, then looked back at Joel. "What do you say?"

          Taggart stared around at the three of them, then back to the acting captain, meeting his eyes. "Let them be. They've worked out a pretty good system by now, and it works most of the time. Back them up when they need it, be there for them whether they do or not. Get out of their way, and prepare yourself for one wild ride."

          A small smile quirked the corner of Turner's mouth. "All right. I will. As of right now, the two of you are a team again. Blair can ride with Jim, go to crime scenes, whatever. But," he added, interrupting the hand-slapping ritual between Jim and Blair, "on one condition."

          The two exchanged wary glances and looked back at him. "What's that?" Blair asked.

          "Talk to me." The acting captain stared them down, then continued. "Tell me what's going on, keep me posted. I want to be kept in the loop, not ignored because you've gotten your way. If I feel like that's what you're doing, I'll pull the team apart until you prove to me that you'll let me in. If you want backup on this, I want something in exchange – I want trust. Deal?"

          Jim and Blair met each other's eyes for a long moment, until finally Ellison shrugged and nodded. "All right, deal."

          Turner shifted his gaze to Blair, who blinked at him, then smiled faintly. "Deal."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Well, Simon, here we are," Joel grumbled, seating himself beside his friend's bed. "Right where we hoped we'd never be."

          He studied the unconscious man for a long moment, then sighed. "Damn it all, Simon. How'd this happen? Don't you know that Jim and Blair are the only ones allowed in this hospital? You're not supposed to end up here any more. Who am I going to talk to about them now?"

          He leaned back in the chair, lacing his fingers together across his stomach. "Turner's okay, and he'll learn, but you and I, we've seen too much, done too much, dealt with them too much for you to be replaced. And there's other things, too. I miss you, my friend. Come back to us."

          The still figure in the bed never moved, and Joel sighed again. "Well, Turner's in the loop now. I gotta tell you, though, it wasn't easy to convince him. Not that I blame him. But we finally got Blair and Jim back together on the job, which is a good thing. Has anyone told you what happened to Jim at the crime scene?" He didn't hesitate, but swung into the tale, ending with an account of the meeting with Turner two days later.

          "So at least that's settled. I think Dave's going to need some examples of Jim's senses, though, for his own sanity. And it would help if he could watch the kid working with him, too. Right now he's going on what you and I said, but a little proof wouldn't hurt."

          He scratched his ear and frowned. "And we didn't talk about the shaman thing with Turner, either, and that worries me, Simon, worries me big. He knows about the link between them, and that they know where each other is and if something's wrong, but not about the other weirdness. And I think that's just as much a part of their lives as Jim's senses are. It's going to hit Turner over the head real soon, and when it does, I don't think any of us are going to like the fallout. I think he'll feel like they didn't keep him in the loop, and that's not good, not good at all.

          "But, hell, you didn't know about the shaman thing for a long time, either, and I don't think you'd've dealt with it if you had. You told me it was hard enough to deal with the link they have. If we throw in the shaman thing on top of everything else we just hit Turner with, I'm afraid he'll throw us all into a real big padded room." He grimaced and sighed. "I just hope we have the kind of time we need, Simon. I've got a real bad feeling about this, but I don't know why. I think a storm's coming, and I really wish you were awake for it."

          The rise and fall of the captain's chest never altered, and Taggert took a long breath. "Well, I'd best get back to it. You hang in there. I know Rafe and Brown and some of the others are dropping in every day, so I won't keep you long – seems your appointment book is pretty full." Leaning forward, he clasped Banks' shoulder and stood. "I'll see you tomorrow. And don't worry, I'll keep an eye on our two problem children, let you know how it goes."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Hey, man, it's just really exciting, you know? I mean, I've never even met Craig Arthen. He's known worldwide for his study of ancient artifacts and their purposes in ancient cultures, particularly tribal ones. To actually be invited to work with him when he visits here is like, Holy Grail time, man!" Blair bounced in his seat, clapping his hands above his head, grinning.

          Jim smiled as he watched the eager anthropologist chatter on, the words bubbling over each other. It was the evening of the same day that they'd met with Turner and Joel, and he himself was tired and tense. Watching Sandburg head off to campus after the meeting hadn't been easy; his own drive to protect his Guide was still strong, and it was hard to force the urge away.

          But he'd caught glimpses of the letter that Sandburg had brought home, and phrases like "Due to your wide-ranging experience with tribal cultures, Dr. Craig Arthen has requested to work with you on a project…" leaped out at him. He smiled to himself as he poured ice tea, only half-listening as his partner's words ran over him like water.

          "…the dean himself suggested me! I didn't even think that old sourpuss liked me much, but maybe I was wrong…"

          He was glad to see the old enthusiasm surface. He'd started to wonder; Blair had seemed so tired since he'd left the hospital, and to see him like this again was good, even if the detective couldn't understand what was so wonderful about the opportunity the younger man so fervently described. But it was clear that this chance meant a lot to Sandburg, and that was all that mattered.

          "And he even let me choose the artifacts I wanted to study! That's really rare, man, I mean, most researchers are pretty chary of sharing their work in the first place, and to let someone choose what they want to work on, that's pretty exceptional. There were something like ten artifacts and I got to pick five, and he seemed pleased at my choices. The man's really cool to work with, and I can learn a lot from him. Man, I am so jazzed, you would not believe!"

          "Oh, I would, Chief, I would," Jim chuckled, setting a plate in front of his friend and ruffling his hair afterward.

Blair ducked and scowled at him, then grinned, that bright look on his face that told Jim all was right with the world, and the Sentinel relaxed for the first time in weeks.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "So, what've you got for me?" The old man eyed them warily, and Jim sighed and tugged the wine bottle out of the paper bag he carried and set it on the table, careful not to touch the smeared surface as he leaned forward.

          The old man studied the label, running one finger over it.   "Blue Whale Chardonnay," he muttered, then checked the small print. "Ah. Glad you remembered, Jimmy boy."

          Ellison grimaced, and Blair sighed. "What's so special about South African wines, anyway?" he grumbled. "Nothing wrong with a good Californian."

          "California!" The whine made the Sentinel cringe slightly, and the anthropologist sat up straighter. "California hasn't had a good wine since '53, sonny, and don't you forget it! Why, I 'member the time when–"

          "Right, Ben," Jim interrupted, "I know you do. My partner's just a little uneducated on the subject of wines, that's all. No harm meant. But why don't you tell us about this man you said we'd be interested in?"

          "Yeah," the anthropologist added when Ben turned his glare on him. "You'll get to taste the wine sooner that way. Otherwise, we might just take it and deliver it to some more deserving soul. Or drink it ourselves," he added when the old man stared at him with wide eyes.

          Ben clutched at the wine, trying to curl his gnarled fingers around it, and Blair jerked forward, trying to grab the bottle before it fell. "Hey, man, take it easy!" His fingers closed over the old man's, and he went white.

          Ellison leaned over to steady him, his movements quick but controlled as he removed the bottle from the hands holding it and placed it back in the middle of the table. "Now, what about that man?" He tried not to keep an obvious eye on his partner as Blair leaned silently back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest and tucking his hands into his armpits.

          "Oh, that man," Ben cackled, his gaze fixed on the bottle. "Street has it that he's the big shot in all those jewel heists you can't seem to stop."

          Jim sucked in a sharp breath, his jaw tight. "Go on."

          "Wal, word has it he's set up downtown, in that warehouse with the fish-head on the corner. Corner of Pritcherd and Byway."

          "Is that where he keeps the jewels they stole?" the observer asked, not moving as Jim glanced at him.

          "Now how 'n hell should I know that?" Ben queried. "Give me my wine." He reached for it, but Ellison beat him to it, curling his fingers around the neck.

          "You just remember that you never saw us," he ordered, staring down the old man's exclamation. "Right?"

          Ben's shoulders sagged. "O' course. I'll take my wine now." He plucked it from the detective's loose grasp, then carefully slid it back into the paper bag that lay beside it and stood. "Talk to you guys again."

          He shuffled toward the door, and Jim looked over at Blair, frowning. "What was that about? You're still off-color."

          The shaman rubbed his face, and then lowered his hands to stare at them. "That man."

          "What about him?"

          Blair shook his head, pushing himself to his feet, and the Sentinel frowned but followed him as the younger man headed toward the exit. Sandburg didn't say anything until they were both in the truck, and when the door slammed behind him Jim turned to stare at him. "Okay, Chief, give."

          The anthropologist ran a hand over his face, frowning. "That man was… shadowed."

          Ellison took a patient breath. "What does that mean?"

          "I don't know!" Blair jerked around to stare at him, his eyes wide. "I don't know. But it's like he walked in shadow, like he was draped in it. He's not himself, not completely, that much I could tell."

          "Not himself? Then who was he?"

          "Not like that!" the anthropologist denied. "He was who he was, but he was also shadowed. And I couldn't see him clearly after I touched him."

          "You've been saying that a lot lately," Jim commented, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. "Maybe you should think about turning on the light." He turned the key in the ignition, ignoring the fact that the words didn't make any sense.

          Blair shook his head. "No, this is different. It's not true dark, it's something else. Light banishes darkness, but it doesn't help me to see it." He chewed his lip and added, "My usual methods aren't working this time."

          Ellison shook his head and looked over his shoulder as he backed up. "Sounds to me like you need to think outside the box, Sandburg. Now, let's go see a man about a warehouse."

          "Uh huh," the shaman said, frowning.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim crouched behind a pile of large boxes and peered around it, automatically focusing his sight to take advantage of the dim light in the large building. Blair knelt beside him, trying not to fidget. "See anything?" he whispered at last.

          "No," Ellison grunted, not looking at him. "Not a damn thing." He stared a moment later, then backed off and looked down at the anthropologist, blinking as his eyes refocused. "And before you ask, I don't hear anything either."

          He grimaced, and the Guide cocked his head. "But?"

          Jim shook his head impatiently. "I don't know. Something feels off."

          "Off? What does that mean?"

          "I don't know, Sandburg," the detective growled, trying not to snap. "Just off, wrong, as in 'not right,' okay?"

          Blair held up his hands. "Hey, man, chill, okay? I'm not the enemy here."

          Ellison sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, Chief. I'm just irritable, that's all."

          The anthropologist shrugged. "No big deal." He watched the bigger man for a moment, noting the fine lines around the eyes. "Headache?"

          The Sentinel shrugged, scanning the area around them. "A little."

          "Hmm."

          Jim glanced at him. "What does 'hmm' mean?"

          Blair grinned. "Why should it mean anything? Or anything more than just 'hmm?'"

          "Don't do this to me," Ellison mumbled, rolling his eyes. "Because with you, Sandburg, it never means just 'hmm.' It always means something. So what does it mean _this_ time?"

          The Guide's smile faded. "I'm not sure. I mean," he added at his partner's glare, "I was just wondering what input was around that was giving you the headache." _Particularly when nothing physical seems to be bothering you._

          The detective lifted a shoulder, let it drop and then moved out of his hiding place, his steps silent as he melted into another shadow. Blair followed him, trying to use all the skills he'd learned from the ex-Ranger across the last few years as he slid in beside him, and was rewarded by a faint smile.

          "Don't know," Jim answered softly, leaning forward to stare down another aisle. "Like I said, I don't sense anything."

          The anthropologist froze as the words rolled through him. "Anything, Jim? You don't sense anything at all?"

          Ellison leaned back to look down at him, frowning. "I hear you just fine, Chief. But out there," he gestured to the warehouse around him, "there's nothing."

          Something prickled down Blair's spine. "Come on, Jim, we're leaving. We're out of here – now."

          The detective glanced at him, his eyes narrowing. "You think–?" He shook his head, cutting off his own words. "Let's go."

          "Not so fast, James!"

          Jim spun, pushing Blair behind him in one swift move, bringing his gun up.

          The man facing them smiled, a Glock resting easily in his hand, trained on them. "Ah ah, James, not so fast. I just want you, anyway."

          Blair leaned back against the boxes, fighting the crushing weariness that abruptly swamped him. Black spots danced in the corners of his vision, and he fought them back, watching them turn lighter and lighter, until they faded into nothingness. That done, he turned his attention to the energy drain, visualizing shields and testing the effects.

          In the background of his own concentration, he could hear the conversation between Jim and their attacker, but it drifted through his consciousness without his paying real attention.

          "Deren." The detective's voice was edged with distaste, an underlying tone that spoke of expectations fulfilled. "I wondered when you'd show up again."

          Absently, engaged in his own struggle, Blair noted the name, identifying it without real thought. _Deren. August Lindir's first lieutenant when Jim was Kallini_.[1] His knees shook, and he wedged his elbows into a crease in the box behind him, letting it take some of his weight. So far none of the shields he had tried worked, and he knew he was running out of time. Soon the waves of black weariness would just take him down to unconsciousness, and to be honest, they were so intense he wasn't sure he'd wake up again. And Jim needed him.

          Deren laughed. "Yeah, guess you thought you were pretty smart, pulling one over on us like that, huh? James Kallini, great second-in-command to August Lindir. Still don't know how you pulled off killing Jerry Williams without going down for it, but, hey, cops stick together. No way were you going down after getting Lindir. But you didn't bargain on me, did you? And now you're going to pay."

          "The snitch was yours, wasn't he?" Ellison asked, his stance unwavering even while he tracked his partner's moves, hearing the faint scratch as the shaman braced himself against the boxes and aware of the younger man's breathing, quick and shallow.

          "Sure was," Deren grinned. "Paid him good money for it, too."

          "Money?" Jim questioned, his eyebrows going up. "Not wine?"

          Deren shrugged. "My friend made real sure that he didn't care which it was." He lifted the gun a little and smiled. "And that reminds me; step away from the little guy."

          "No."

          The man grimaced. "I'd be real happy to waste him, especially after he helped you mess up our operation, but my friend wants him for something else. Real bad. So step away, I don't want my bullets to go through you and kill him."

          "You'll pardon me if I don't believe you," Ellison answered, settling into a ready stance, solid and unmoving, in front of the anthropologist. Something in Deren's tone told him the man was speaking the truth, but he just couldn't take the chance. "Who was stupid enough to team up with you, anyway?" _And who the hell would want Sandburg like this? And what's going on with him?_

          Through the growing haze around him, Blair felt Jim's concern, warm in his mind like a sun-torched rock in the desert. The heat blazed through the gray fog cold around him, and he didn't hesitate, latching onto Jim's presence and pulling him into the gestalt. There was a swirling moment of heat and color and bright, hot scents that burned in his nostrils, and then the fog, the weariness, the black waves of hopelessness, were gone, and he lurched forward into real time, seeing through Jim's eyes as Deren's face tightened at the question and his finger squeezed the trigger.

Slamming into the Sentinel's body, Blair heard the grunt as the man stumbled sideways, unprepared for the move, and then he found himself on his knees, watching as Jim tackled Deren, wrestling the gun away from him but unable to bring it to bear before the other man was on him. The detective tossed the weapon away, to clatter somewhere among the boxes.

Deren snarled, throwing a hard fist into Ellison's solar plexus. The officer doubled over, and the other man brought down a double fist on the back of his neck.

Jim dropped, but rolled over and came to his feet, staggering.

Deren launched himself, taking the detective to the ground and straddling him, then started pounding him.

The Sentinel took several blows to the jaw, then bucked him off, rolling to his feet. This time he moved in, throwing sharp jabs to the other man's face and body, his eyes narrow and focused, and Blair relaxed as Jim struck one last time and Deren fell and lay still.

Jim yanked the handcuffs off his belt and snapped them over the man's wrists, grimacing at the mutter the action elicited, then sighed and pushed himself to his feet, turning toward Blair with a smile that quickly faded. "Chief!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "It's just a graze," Blair said, his mouth set. "I'm not staying." Shirtless, the bandage strapped across his ribs on the right side stood out in the fluorescent light, and he radiated an almost angry determination as he sat on the exam table.

Alan glanced from him to Jim, who leaned against the wall on one side of the cubicle, his gaze fixed on his Guide. He met Alan's glance and lifted one shoulder slightly. The doctor sighed.

          "Blair, it would just be overnight, to make sure no infection develops."

          "No."

          "Chief–" Jim backed off at the glare he received, holding up his hands, palms up. "All right, Sandburg, whatever you want."

          Alan shook his head, then handed Jim several pieces of paper, much scribbled on. "Make sure he takes these – twice a day for the next ten. Keep an eye on him, all right? And make sure you take care of those stomach muscles, too. You'll have some nasty bruises soon."

          Ellison nodded. "Will do."

          Blair watched Rivers leave, then turned a glare on Jim. "I can take those myself."

          "I know you can," Jim answered, the words quiet. Leaning over, he plucked the anthropologist's shirt from the floor and handed it to him. "But this is what partners are for, to take care of each other. If it was me sitting there, Alan would be giving you directions, not me, because that's just how it works for us, and he knows it." He held the younger man's gaze until the Guide looked away, his tight grip on the shirt relaxing.

          "Sorry."

          The detective shook his head. "I don't need it, Chief. Let's go home."

          The shaman nodded, pulling the shirt over his head, and Jim heard the jerk of his breath as the move tightened muscles around the injury. His jaw tightened.

          "Injured again, Sandburg?"

          Turner's voice was grim and tight, and Blair finished pulling the shirt down and straightened it, then looked up. "It's just a graze," he said again. "No big deal."

          "You're a civilian!" the captain bit out, glaring at Jim. "That makes it a big deal."

          "Hey," the anthropologist snapped, "I've been hurt worse than this, and it didn't stop me then. This is my job, it's what I do."

          "What, get injured?" Turner replied and turned to Jim. "Are you proud of this record, Ellison? A civilian almost gets killed saving your ass, and you come out of it with bruises?"

          In one quick move, Blair was off the table, standing almost toe to toe with the captain. "This is between me and Jim, Turner, and no one, not even Simon, ever tried to come between us on this! Stay out of it!"

          The captain studied him for a long moment, his gaze shuttered and unreadable, then turned around and stepped to the door. "You're both off-duty tomorrow. I'll see you the day after." His footsteps paced down the hall, and Blair took a deep breath, turning back to pick up his backpack.

          Jim intercepted the move, hefting the pack carefully over his shoulder. "Chief–"

          "If you're going to agree with him–"

          Jim held up his hands again. "I was going to ask if you had everything."

          Blair hesitated, then took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. I'm good to go."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Joel wandered through the Bull Pen, pausing as he saw Turner sitting in his office, his gaze fixed on the picture that hung on the wall beside the filing cabinet. It portrayed the officers of Major Crimes, with Blair settled cross-legged in the first row, Jim behind him. The observer wore an almost shy grin, and Ellison had been caught with his hand on the younger man's shoulder, the affectionate look on his face clear in the photo.

          Taggert halted in the office doorway, studying the almost pensive look on the other captain's face. After a moment, he nodded to himself and spoke, his words quiet in the room. "They're something else, aren't they?"

          Turner glanced up, started to shrug and sighed. "Yes. Yes, they are." He hesitated, then said, "Do you have a moment?"

          "Sure," Joel answered comfortably, stepping inside the room and swinging the door shut behind him as he headed toward one of the chairs. "What happened?" he asked after he seated himself, watching the other man jerk a little as his study of the portrait was interrupted again.

          Turner leaned back in his chair and frowned at him. "Did you hear that Blair was injured today?"

          "Again?" Joel asked, shaking his head at the affirmative. "That kid has more lives than a cat. What did they get into this time?"

          "Seems an old enemy of Jim's used one of their snitches to get the two of them in his sights. Almost blew them away, but Blair upset his aim and Jim took the perp down. Sandburg was grazed."

          Taggert's shoulders relaxed. "Nothing serious, then. That's good."

          The other captain paused and nodded. "They wanted to keep him overnight, but Sandburg refused. They'll be back at work day after tomorrow." He eyed the big man and sighed. "It doesn't bother you?"

          Joel frowned, taking the almost-question seriously. "Yes, it does. But with those two, you get used to it. One or the other of them is in the hospital on a regular basis, although not so much as they used to be. But they watch each other's backs."

          Turner's frown deepened. "But it doesn't bother you."

          "Not the way it does you," Joel agreed. He waited a beat, then added, "Talk to me, Dave. What's bugging you? They're a handful, no argument, but they know their job."

          The other man sighed, steepling his fingers across his chest and staring at them. "About six years ago, I approved a civilian ride-along for one of my officers for a semester. The girl's father was a cop who'd died when she was a child, and she wanted to understand his life before she started hers. She was a smart young woman, and she impressed me. She wasn't out looking for an adrenaline rush, and she knew how to stay out of trouble when it happened. Which it did, a time or two, but she kept her head and followed orders, which were to stay in the squad car and lock the doors."

          He fell silent for a moment, and Joel eyed him. "What happened?" he asked when it didn't seem as if the man was going to continue.

          "It was a drug bust gone bad," Turner said flatly, not looking up. "There was a lot of gunfire, on both sides, and when my officer got back to his car, he found her dead on the front seat." He paused for a long moment before adding heavily, "By friendly fire."

He lifted his gaze to meet Taggert's understanding eyes. "She was just about to graduate college with a degree in teaching, and had already been hired to start the next fall at a local high school." He looked away, blinking hard. "She was so excited about it. Wanted to use us in her teaching, and we all knew we'd be on call for classroom visits." He paused, drawing a long breath. "She had her whole life in front of her, and who knows what she could've done with it. And if I hadn't okayed a civilian doing something she had no right to be doing, she'd still be alive today." He ran a hand through his hair, a rare admission of his own conflict. "And I'm doing it again to Blair."

          Joel was silent for a long moment, then shook his head. "No, you're not."

          "He's a civilian."

          "Not any more," Taggert answered, his voice almost gentle. "Sandburg hasn't been a civilian for a couple of years now, Dave, and Jim wasn't kidding when he said that he's the key to everything between them. Whatever makes a Guide is just as special as what makes a Sentinel, although it'd be hard to get Blair to believe it. But everyone else knows, even if he doesn't. And you couldn't stop him from being one if you tried. It's what he is, what he does."

          Turner shot him a sharp glance. "Have you been talking with him?"

          Joel blinked at him, and Dave's gaze dropped. "Sorry. But those were his words, exactly." He rose, turning to stare out the window, then glanced back at the other captain. "Damn it, Joel, I just can't wrap my head around it. Ellison was right – him I understand. But Sandburg I don't. I can't deny it's real, and I know he's not an ordinary civilian, but he's not a cop, either." He halted at Taggert's chuckle. "What?"

          Joel sobered. "Hell, Dave, I've lost count of the times I've heard Simon tell Blair off for that. 'Sandburg, for the last time, you're _not_ a cop!'" He looked up at the other man. "And he's not. But it doesn't stop him."

          Turner sat down, his gaze steady. "Why not? What does he get out of it, Joel?" he added when the other man didn't immediately answer. "So far it seems like he pulls Jim's nuts out of the fire on a regular basis, and gets injured doing it, but what does he get out of it?"

          Taggert frowned. "That's a tough one to answer. But I'll tell you one thing, it only looks like that on the outside. That's a two-way street between them, all the way." He studied Turner for a long moment, then nodded to himself. "Lean back and listen. I've got a few stories I think you need to hear. Maybe they'll help you put them in some kind of perspective, give you an idea of how they work together."

          "All right," Dave said with a faint smile, relaxing into his chair. "I always did like a good story."

          "Oh, I can promise you a few of those," Joel smiled. "Now, let's see. Where to begin? I'll tell you their meeting as Blair told me about it when I found out about them. There was this guy called the Switchman terrorizing the city…"

 

[1] See "A Stone's Throw," in _Sensory Overload 6_.


	3. Chapter 3

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim finished loading the dishwasher, listening to the sounds of Blair in his room. The younger man had vanished into his space when they'd returned to the loft, only coming out for dinner, and had been quiet and subdued during that, not responding to the Sentinel's gentle probing except to growl that he was okay. The detective had refused to let him help with the dishes, pointing out that he'd had a much more tiring day than Ellison had had, and needed to rest. The kid had made a token protest, but the ex-Ranger had chased him off regardless.

          His absence gave the older man time to think about that afternoon, which he'd managed to ignore until now, and fitting the last plate into its rack in the machine, he sighed, admitting to himself that he was worried.

          When Sandburg had pulled him into the link that afternoon, the crushing weariness he'd felt for a moment before it vanished like a bubble popping had almost scared him in its intensity. It wasn't an ordinary reaction to being shot or to having pneumonia, and if this was what the kid had been fighting all along Jim was surprised that he could stay on his feet. But that was Blair for you – stubborn as a mule didn't even come close.

          Whatever it was, that darkness was obviously something that they needed to talk about, though, and that knowledge made Jim sigh, feeling somewhat at a loss. Usually it was the shaman who led the way in things of this sort, and he wasn't used to initiating a discussion that could lead to the metaphysical realm.

          And that didn't even begin to touch on what Deren had said about his friend wanting Blair and not Jim. Usually it was the other way around, or sometimes, it was both of them. Why just Blair?

          Jim shook his head at himself. Deren might have been lying, even though it hadn't felt like it. But then, Deren's belief in what he'd said didn't make it true.

          He finished loading the last of the dishes and poured the soap in, then closed the machine and set the dials. Well, he'd just sit on what Deren had said for a while, and be extra vigilant with his partner. After all, it seemed like whoever wanted him – if anyone really did – didn't want him dead, and that gave them more leeway to deal with the threat.

          His conscience nagged that he should say something to Blair, since he wasn't sure the shaman had actually heard that part of the conversation with Deren. But Sandburg had enough on his plate at the moment, and sharing that information with him would just add to it without helping the situation. No, he'd just watch the younger man's back very carefully, and set up a little talk with Deren as soon as possible. It might mean letting Turner know about the threat, and that wasn't good, but if it came down to it, Blair alive and free meant more to Jim than Blair imprisoned or dead, whatever the Guide thought of his choice.

          He turned away from the thought as he flipped the lever of the dishwasher and paused to check the locks for the night, the machine's steady hum accompanying him as he flipped off the light in the kitchen, leaving the house in abrupt darkness. He paused to let his eyes adjust, then came back into the living room.

          Blair was sitting on the couch, staring out at the balcony, and Jim paused, watching the man for a moment, then said softly, "Want to talk about it?"

          The shaman shrugged. "Not much to talk about, is there?"

          "Sure there is," Jim replied, moving in to stand behind his own chair, set cattycorner to the couch, "or you wouldn't be sitting in the dark."

          Blair smiled faintly. _Sometimes you know me too well, Jim_.

          The Sentinel swallowed. Blair didn't deliberately use the link between them often, and it still disconcerted him. _It's my job, Chief._

          The quick, startled glance told him he'd surprised the younger man, and he wondered if the anthropologist hadn't meant him to catch the thought. He smiled, moving to seat himself in the chair. "Talk to me, Sandburg."

          The observer sighed, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "Do you feel that way, too?"

          Jim sighed. Blair had a bad habit of starting a conversation in the middle sometimes, generally when the answer meant a lot to him. "What way, Chief?"

          The Guide dipped his head, his hair falling forward to hide his face, and loosed his legs, lowering them to the floor. He put his hands in his lap, the fingers twined around each other, and was silent.

          The detective waited, and finally the younger man went on, the words almost Sentinel-soft. "The way Turner does. About me getting injured," he added, when Ellison hesitated.

          Jim paused, then said soberly, "I don't like it, no. It's my job to protect you, and I failed."

          Blair pushed himself to his feet, the hitch in his breath telling as he moved, and strode forward to stare out the balcony. "Failed how?"

          The older man frowned, watching his friend's stillness. "I should've seen or heard Deren before we walked into his little ambush."

          Sandburg waved his hand. "He had a white noise generator, Jim, we know that, we found it. There was no way you could've known he was there."

His voice was impatient, rough, and Ellison pushed down his annoyance. There was no point in snapping at Blair for an answer the Sentinel knew as well he did. Whatever was driving the shaman couldn't be found by such abruptness, and he knew from experience that if he did the conversation would drop into an argument and nothing would be solved.

"Blair, what's wrong?" He felt the spurt of impatience shoot through the shaman and grimaced. "Stop putting me off, and talk to me!"

The observer's shoulders sagged, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, his chin dropping as he stared down at his feet. "Do you think of me as a civilian or a partner?"

Ah. So that was it. Jim nodded to himself and swallowed. It had gotten easier across the years to talk about their relationship, but he still had to nerve himself to say the words. "You're my partner, Chief. My Guide. My friend."

Blair turned, peering at him in the darkness. "And a civilian."

Ellison sighed. "Yeah, you are. But…" He trailed off, unable to find the words, then pushed himself to his feet and stalked over to Sandburg, staring down at him. "If you're asking me whether I feel like a cop or a Sentinel when I've failed to protect you, the answer is simple: yes. I feel like a cop, and a Sentinel, and a friend, and a partner."

Blair's gaze fell, and Jim felt the humbled awe that surged through him, leaving the shaman wordless. Possessiveness abruptly flamed through him, and he reached for the bowed shoulders, feeling them stiffen as his own feelings surged through the anthropologist, locking them together in a moment where they stood as Sentinel and Guide, primal and immediate.

And then the moment faded and was gone, and Jim looked down into the eyes of the younger man, who'd reached up to grasp his sleeve in the middle of it, and knew, as Blair did, that although they couldn't hold it, that that deeper reality was, in all actuality, where they were all the time.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Joel, I need to set up a talk with Deren." Even standing on the balcony Ellison kept his voice down, although he could hear his partner's even breathing from his bedroom, and knew that the younger man was sound asleep. It was the next morning, and he'd been careful to keep his own rising quiet and careful so as not to disturb the anthropologist.

          The silence on the other end of the line made him straighten. "Joel?"

          Taggert sighed. "He's dead, Jim."

          The word reverberated through the silence, until the detective finally cleared his throat. "How?"

          "Nobody knows," Joel answered, the uneasiness in his tone clear. "He was found in his cell this morning. And before you ask, he was alone, and had been all night. And there wasn't a mark on him."

          The Sentinel sighed, fighting the chill that edged up his neck. "When will we know the results of the autopsy?"

          "Tomorrow, probably." Taggert hesitated and then added, "That's not all. He was muttering all evening about you. Said you were a dead man, that someone was going to get you, no matter what."

          Jim shrugged, trying to sound dismissive. "This was Deren Richards, Joel. Former first lieutenant to August Lindir, remember? He's wanted me dead for a long time. I'm sure he thinks I'll get my just due whether he's around to do it or not."

          The captain was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke the uncertainty was strong in his tone. "Maybe, but I don't like it. And neither does Dave."

          Ellison sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "Damn it all, Joel–"

          "Like it or not, Jim," the older man snapped, "you're his officer now. He takes care of his own, and he had a right to know about a threat to your life."

          The detective looked out over the city. "I know he did, Joel. But I don't have to like it." He took a breath and added, "Deren didn't say anything about a threat to Blair, then?"

          Taggert's shake of his head was almost audible. "Nope, not a word. Should he have?"

          "No," Jim answered, propping one foot on the low wall around the balcony and staring out over the city. "Just wondered. Not typical that someone targets one of us and not the other."

          "True enough," Joel agreed, the doubt easing from his voice with the words. "Anyway, sorry he died, Jim. I'll make sure the autopsy results end up on your desk."

          "Thanks," Ellison said, grimacing. "I don't think it'll help, but you never know. And yeah, Joel," he added, hearing the older man take a breath, "I'll be careful. Both of us will be."

          "Good," the man grunted, sounding remarkably like Simon for a moment. "See that you do. Take it easy today, and we'll see you tomorrow."

          Jim removed the phone from his ear and pressed the off button, then dropped it into his pocket and rested his crossed arms on the railing that curled up out of the wall. Staring out over the city, he sighed. He really needed to tell Sandburg about this. Now there seemed to be threats against both of them, and his partner needed to know about it.

          He turned and headed back inside.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Jim stood and looked down at Simon, counting backward. It'd been less than two weeks since their world had come crashing down upon them with the captain's accident, but it felt much longer, and looking back over the time he shook his head, wondering how long the police administration would wait before making Turner's assignment permanent. The man was good at his job, there was no denying that, but he wasn't Simon, and the detective sighed, letting himself acknowledge the burning loss inside himself that never quite went away.

"Damn it, Simon," he said, seating himself by the bed, "what the hell is going on? Alan says you should wake up, that there's no medical reason why you aren't. But here you are." He sighed again, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "And I… miss you, sir. Turner's good at his job, but he's not you. He never will be." He took a long breath, setting the grief back in its accustomed place. "I guess you'd like a report."

He gave one, reciting recent events with all the thoroughness he would've brought to an ordinary discussion with Simon on an ordinary day. "That's about it. Sandburg's injury is doing better, but I don't know how Turner's going to react to us when we go back to work tomorrow. The kid really told him off at the hospital." He chuckled a little. "Joel told me once that he'd seen what happened when he tried to come between a Guide and his Sentinel right after he found about us. I guess you saw Blair that time, so you probably have a pretty good idea what this one looked like." He shook his head, smiling. "I never realized that this protection thing worked both ways, Simon. You learned so quickly not to get in the middle of us that I never saw it before, not like this."

He considered, then added, "It's actually kind of scary. I've gotten used to Blair being there when I need him, even to needing him, well, most of the time, but this…" He trailed off, searching for the words. "I guess I'm not used to seeing him stand up to other people for me, for us." He shook his head, staring unseeingly at the light above his friend's head. "It's kind of… humbling, you know?"

Embarrassment caught him, and he stood up, shying away from the blunt words. "Well, I'd better go, gotta pick Sandburg up from the university. He's really excited about this new project he's got, but the painkillers mean that he can't drive yet, so I'm his ride."

He paused, looking down at the black man, and thought of all the Major Crime officers he'd seen on his visits here, either just leaving or waiting when he came out. "You mean more than you think, Simon," he said quietly, turning toward the door. "To a lot of people. I'll see you soon."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Blair trailed Jim into the Bull Pen, returning the smiles of the various officers as he passed, and trying not to look as uneasy as he felt. Telling Turner off two days before had been a spur of the moment thing, an irresistible, force-driven action, and now he wasn't sure how to meet the man. _No_ , he admitted to himself, _you're not sure how he'll meet you_. He didn't regret what he'd done, but he did wish he hadn't been forced to react as he had. Well, hopefully Turner would've learned not to try stepping between a Guide and his Sentinel now. And hopefully he himself still had a place in the department.

Jim glanced at him, the blue eyes thoughtful, and he knew his partner had caught his unease. He forced a smile, and the detective clapped his shoulder, the touch lingering for a moment.

"Hey, guys," Rafe greeted, raising a hand to them as they paused by the donut cart in front of his desk. "You hear about that attack on Kane yesterday?"

"What attack?" Blair asked, glancing around for the younger officer and finding him missing. "What happened?"

Henry shrugged, frowning. "Not exactly sure. Seems he was coming out of a Circle K that'd just been robbed, and someone went after him in the parking lot. He wasn't really hurt," he added at their exclamations, "just a few bruises. Saw him downstairs in the deli this morning, so he's here."

"Man, I swear, the city's just getting worse and worse," Rafe commented, shaking his head as he started sorting the stack of file folders on his desk. "Must be a full moon or something."

"Isn't that the truth?" Brown agreed, halting by the cart and choosing a selection. "Seems like people're just going off the deep end recently. It's even showing up in the crime stats; saw it on the news yesterday."

"So you guys keep an eye out," Rafe advised, glancing up at them. "Don't want you back in the hospital again," he added, nodding at Blair, who rolled his eyes. "You're too trouble prone, Sandburg."

"Tell me about it," Jim growled, his lips quirking as he glanced at his partner. "Come on, Chief, time we got some work done." He led the way toward his desk, followed by the observer, but both paused as Turner stepped into his office doorway and motioned them to join him with a jerk of the head.

Blair's stomach tightened as he turned toward the man, and Jim's hand dropped to his shoulder. "Together, Sandburg."

The acting captain studied them as they entered, his expression unreadable, and not for the first time, the anthropologist wondered what he saw. He knew that he himself just didn't fit into the man's world, both as a civilian and an academic, and his 'neo-hippy, witch doctor' look didn't help. Throw in the Guide aspect, and that made it even worse.

He sighed silently, feeling the rightness of his place beside Jim as he sat down in his accustomed chair, and wished that he could explain the reality of their relationship to Turner in some way that made sense.

          But something had changed. He wasn't sure if it was due to his outburst two days before or if something else had happened, but Turner's eyes weren't as shuttered today, and he had the feeling that the man actually saw them, perhaps even understood them in some manner that he hadn't before.

          Well, whatever it was, Blair was glad, and he relaxed a little as the captain sat down behind his desk, feeling his partner's muscles loosen as well.

          Turner leaned back and steepled his fingers, studying them. "So, I hear there's a target painted on your back, Ellison."

          Jim grimaced and shrugged. "I'm still not convinced that Deren wasn't just lying through his hat, sir. There's been no other threats, and no word on the streets about a contract."

          The captain nodded thoughtfully. "True enough. I don't like it, though. I want you to be extra careful out there, understand? And I want to hear about anything that might even conceivably be a threat, or an attack. No solo stunts, either; you need backup, you call backup." He shifted his gaze to the quiet anthropologist. "No offense, Sandburg."

          Blair blinked at him and swallowed. "None taken, sir. I know what kind of backup I offer, and what kind I don't."

          Turner's lips curved slightly. "Glad to hear it." He glanced at the detective. "Ellison?"

          The ex-Ranger nodded. "No problem."

          "Good." He paused to examine the two of them. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

          Guide and Sentinel exchanged glances, and Blair shrugged, then glanced back at the captain. "Well, I guess someone wants me, too. But not dead," he added as the man sat up straighter.

          "Explain."

          Jim took over, describing his conversation with Deren and the man's comment about Blair. At the end of it, Turner leaned forward. "How do you feel about this, Sandburg?"

          The anthropologist heard the tension under the words and sympathized. The man was still trying to get used to the idea of a civilian working the streets, and now said civilian was under threat. His automatic reaction would be to yank Blair from the team, and it was to his credit that he hadn't made that snap decision – yet.

Blair took a breath and said carefully, "I'm not taking it lightly, but I won't let it stop me, either." Turner frowned, and he added, "This isn't the first time I've dealt with a threat like this, and it probably won't be the last. I'm safer with Jim then I would be under house arrest, and, to be honest, I'm more concerned that you'll pull me from the team than I am of someone managing to grab me."

          The captain grimaced. "Sandburg, sometimes your priorities are questionable."

          "Not really," Blair answered, leaning forward and holding the man's eyes, aware of Jim's held breath beside him. "I'm committed to my partner, and through him, to the people he's sworn to protect. You asked us to trust you with the stuff you needed to know, but I– _we_ need you to trust us to handle our job, too."

          Turner sighed. "I know that, Blair. But I wasn't expecting you to test that trust so soon." He shook his head. "If I leave you out on the streets, knowing someone's threatened to snatch you, it goes against everything I believe about protecting the public. But I also know enough of your history to know that you are safer beside Jim than you would be in protective custody." He snorted, studying them. "Since that's failed several times and your Sentinel has had to come in to pick up the pieces."

          Both men looked away, Blair's cheeks going rosy.

          "No wonder Simon takes long vacations," the captain muttered. "With you two around, he needs them."

          The comment won faint smiles from the two, and an appreciative glance from Jim at the present tense.

          "All right," Turner said after a long silence. "This case is so hot that I can't take my best detective off it, and I already know the two of you come as a pair. So, here's how it'll go down. Both of you go out together as usual, but I want check-ins every two hours. I don't hear from you, I send the cavalry to your last known location, and they arrive with sirens blaring. So if you don't want to be embarrassed, you'll be prompt. Deal?"

          The two men exchanged glances, then looked back at the captain, their reluctant expressions clear. He shook his head at them. "One of you is under a death threat, the other is a civilian someone wants to snatch. By rights I should throw Blair into protective custody and assign extra men to Jim's back, and the two of you know it. Two hour check-ins, that's the deal. Take it or leave it."

          "We'll take it," Blair answered quickly. "No problem."

          Turner held his eyes for a moment, then nodded. "I'll hold you to that. Both of you," he said, glancing at Jim, who nodded, too.

"All right," the captain continued, shifting to a businesslike tone. "Let's get on with this. There's been another robbery." He handed a folder to Jim, who opened it and started flipping through it. "And this time someone was injured."

          Ellison glanced back at him, frowning. "They've never done that before. Was it deliberate?"

          "Seemed to be," the man answered, his lips tight. "They could've just tied the man up, like they've done before, but this time they beat him, pretty badly. He's in serious condition, and the doctors aren't sure whether he can make a full recovery."

          "Another private residence, too," Blair commented, leaning forward to read the file. "Looks like a pretty good haul."

          "It was," the captain agreed heavily. "The press is going to be all over this, and the chief is already yelling. It'd be good if you could wrap this case up, and soon."

          "No pressure," Blair said wryly.

          Turner shrugged. "As I think Simon said to you several times, they're leaning on me, so, I lean on you. Do your best. It's why you get paid the big bucks," he added, a small smile quirking his lips as he nodded at Jim. "And as for you," he said, still smiling as he glanced at the anthropologist, "I guess we just pay you in good will."

          "I come cheap," Blair offered, unable to resist.

          "But not easy," Turner answered dryly, standing. "The forensic teams have already been over the crime scene, so you'll be alone there, except for me."

          "No problem," Ellison said, rising, the folder tucked under one arm. "Let's go, Chief."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "He's really trying." Blair's voice was thoughtful, and he scooted back in the passenger seat, trying to find a position that didn't torque his ribs.

          "Yeah, he is," Jim agreed, his gaze shifting from the light to his partner. "Chief–"

          "I'm okay, big guy," Sandburg reassured. "Just sore, that's all. No big deal." He took a careful breath and returned to his earlier thought. "I mean, I know it can't be easy, dealing with us." He saw the detective's glance and grimaced. "Okay, it can't be easy dealing with _me_." He shook his head at Jim's smile. "You know, I used to think I was easy to get along with."

          "It's not that, Chief," Ellison answered, returning his attention to the road as the light flipped to green. "It's what you are, not who, that makes the difference in this."

          Blair sighed. "I know. But you didn't seem to have that much trouble with my being a civilian, or Simon."

          Jim shook his head. "Yes, I did. But if you'll recall, I didn't have much chance to protest at the time. You kind of shoved your way into my life, and you made such a huge difference that I couldn't deny that you had a place in it. But it was still hard to accept a civilian. And doubly so for Simon."

          The shaman sighed, bracing himself as Jim swung around a corner. "I guess I never really felt like it was this hard before to get in. I mean, I felt something between us when I saw you, and it really hit me when that garbage truck rolled over us, and Simon blustered a lot, but he trusted you, so we were a go." He flashed a dry smile at the officer. "Guess I just didn't really feel like a civilian."

          "You didn't have much chance, that's for sure," Jim agreed, turning onto a neighborhood street. "Your life was on the line from the beginning. But that's not the way a civilian is supposed to live, Chief. We're trained in that, we choose that life, that risk, but you… You're everything we're supposed to protect. And that's what Simon thinks of–" His voice died, and he cleared his throat. "Thought of, every time we went out on a case."

          Blair swallowed, his own throat tight, then forced himself on. "Funny, I never realized that." He cleared his throat and grinned as the detective pulled into a parking place in front of a residence roped off with police tape. "See, I told you in the beginning I wanted to make a study of that thin blue line, Jim." He pushed open his door as the engine died and carefully slid out, noticing and refusing to comment on Turner, seated on the hood of his own car nearby and watching them. "I could've too, using myself as a case study. Bet I could still write a paper on it."

          "Sandburg." The growl was definite, but for all that, the cuff that Jim laid alongside his head was still gentle, and the shaman only pretended to duck, still grinning as he followed his friend toward the house.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Wait, Jim," Blair ordered before they reached the house, snagging the detective's sleeve when he paused and glanced back. "I want to try something first, before you walk in there."

          The Sentinel frowned at him. "Chief, the forensic teams have already been all over this place, and it's going to be difficult enough to find anything without delaying longer. Every minute we wait–"

          "Everything fades and you pick up less and less," Blair finished, peripherally aware of Turner's gaze on them. "But if we walk in there and that scent forces you into a zone-out again, we don't want to waste that kind of time again, either. Not to mention the fact that I haven't replaced the epi-pen in the truck yet. I'm not sure what the effects would be of having multiple zone-outs close together, and I really don't want to find out. So give me a minute here."

          Jim sighed. "What?"

          "I want to try to set up some safeguards," Blair said doggedly, not loosening his grip on the detective's sleeve. "Kind of like an inoculation."

          Ellison shrugged. "Go for it, Sandburg."

          "Good!" The anthropologist bounced a little on his feet, then turned and tugged the Sentinel toward the lawn. "Come over here."

          The older man sighed. "Chief, can't we do this on the porch?" He motioned toward the house, and the shaman grimaced.

          "No," he said firmly. "Come on, Jim, you know as well as I do that everything starts on the porch. I don't think that the thieves did anything out here that's likely to throw you, so doing it out here is safer, and that's the whole point. Besides," he added as they stepped onto the grass, "it's more natural out here, easier to ground."

          "Whatever that means," Ellison grumbled as he followed him under a tree.

          "You'll find out soon enough," Blair promised, seating himself cross-legged with lithe ease. "Come on, big guy," he coaxed, patting the ground beside him, both men ignoring the captain's interested gaze.

          The detective sighed and sat down. "Sandburg, sometimes…"

          "Hey, man, go with me here, okay?" He glanced up to meet the Sentinel's eyes, his own light tone suddenly serious. "Ignore him, Jim. For right now, this moment, it's just you and me, okay?"

          Caught by the tone, Ellison met the gaze and nodded. "All right, Chief. Just us. What're we doing?"

          "I want to use the link for this," Blair said, all the banter gone. "I think that if we can set it up so that the more prone you are to get lost in the stimuli the more you'll listen to my voice, that might keep it from getting so bad you zone out."

Jim frowned, and the younger man leaned forward. "Look, man, last time it was a smell that got you. Now scent is the most primal sense we have, and the hardest to fight. So I'm hoping that if we strengthen what makes us work, it'll head that off. Make sense?"

The Sentinel thought about it. "You think it can work?"

The shaman shrugged. "Hey, man, won't know until we try. You ready?"

Jim nodded. "You said this would be through the link?"

The younger man nodded. "Yeah. Has to be, man. It's mental more than physical. It's just a matter of–"

The detective rolled his eyes. "Just do it, Sandburg, don't explain it."

Blair grinned, the expression quickly sobering. "Look at me, Jim."

Jim met his eyes, hearing Turner's indrawn breath as the younger man sat up straighter, his eyes taking on that penetrating, focused look that Ellison always identified as his shaman mode. The anthropologist, the civilian, fell away like a discarded cloak, leaving the Guide in all his essential truth, and Jim felt himself dropping into the union they'd forged across the years, knowing as he did so that the two of them stood revealed as they were to any watchers, Guide and Sentinel, powerful and primal.

For Jim, the next few minutes were vivid. Time in the link was often like that, crystal clear and at the same time experienced in a way impossible to describe in words.

He and Blair stood in the loft. The French doors were open, the fresh air of early morning streaming in. Beams of sunlight lay golden across the hardwood floor, and the shaman glanced around, smiling a little, then reaching forward, caught the Sentinel's hand, tugging him over to a blanket spread across the large rug that defined the living room. They seated themselves on it, and Jim eyed his friend. Here, Blair was not only the Guide, but also the anthropologist, the civilian, the observer, and Ellison shook his head, wondering.

Blair looked at him and grinned. "Jim, that's because here, in our safe space, we are, each of us, who we are, all in all. I'm all of those things, and more, and you're the Sentinel, but you're also the detective, the ex-Ranger, the cop, and so on. Here we have to be true to ourselves, but we're very complicated beings, and we bring all those complications with us. To do work here, we have to be whole."

Jim studied him, then nodded. "So what are we here to do, Chief?"

"To build," the shaman said, serious again. He raised his hands. "In this time and space, show us our connections to each other in visible, material form."

Light bloomed around them, golden and bright, and Ellison shut his eyes, dialing that sense back before he opened them again.

          A latticework of light played around and through them, some strands fine as gossamer, others thick as a girder of steel. They wove a net around the two men, many of the strands shooting straight through one to the other, and Jim blinked, surprised at the sheer number.

          "Hey, man," Blair said, his lips quirking, "we've been together for a while now, there's bound to be a lot of them."

          "I hadn't thought of it like this," the detective admitted, tentatively probing one strand with a finger. It went right through his hand, a pleasant throb of warmth marking its path, and he blinked. "What're we doing now?"

          Sandburg placed his hands on his thighs, and spoke, the words careful. "We need something which can be used to build our bond stronger in the time and place we left behind us." A neatly tied off ball of deep blue embroidery floss abruptly lay at his knee, and he picked it up, unwinding several lengths before handing the loose end to Jim. "Tie it to my wrist." He held out his hand, the razor-thin scar across his open palm glinting in the light.

          Jim swallowed, then took the skein and carefully wrapped it around the shaman's wrist, encircling it three times before tying it off.

          Blair nodded, then took the ball and unwound more line before raising his head to look at Jim, who held out his own hand, the mirrored scar bright across his own palm as the shaman wrapped the cord around his wrist.

          "Scissors," he said briefly, and picked up the pair beside himself, carefully snipping the floss but leaving enough length to tie it off, holding the loose end between two fingers.

          Jim ran a finger down the floss taut between them, wondering if its warmth was his imagination.

          "Ah, good," Sandburg commented, glancing up at one of the thicker strands of light. It rippled blue. "I was hoping that when we did this, that the corresponding link would change color to match the yarn, and it did. That means the correspondence is true."

          "That means this will work?" Ellison asked. "You know, Chief, I listen to you pretty well anyway. What's this going to accomplish?"

          "That I'm God," Blair said soberly, then grinned at Jim's shocked look. "Gotcha!"

          "Sandburg…"

          "Relax, Jim," the shaman answered, a grin still playing around his mouth. "This won't make you any more likely to listen to me when you don't want to, I promise. I wish," he added dryly. "It'll only make it easier to listen to me when you're distracted by your senses, which is when you need to anyway."

          "If you say so," Ellison growled. "But if I find that I've been acting like a chicken or something in the Bull Pen, your ass is grass, Sandburg."

          "Trust me, big guy," the Guide reassured. "Would I do something like that to you?" Jim's eyes narrowed, and Blair tried to look hurt. "Anyway," he said hastily, "let's move on." He looked down at the yarn binding them, his expression sobering. "As I tie this off, so will the bond between us, that which allows the Sentinel to hear his Guide, be strengthened."

He tugged the knot closed, and the yarn abruptly torched into a sizzling blue, burning heat whipping up and down its length, and Ellison heard a small gasp under his own as heat encircled his wrist, making it throb. The blazing fury echoed in the bond of light above, and then the yarn vanished, together with the web of light.

          Jim rubbed his wrist, sure he could feel the fire burning there still, and noticed Blair was doing the same. He grinned. "Underestimate yourself a bit, Sherlock?"

          The shaman's answering smile was a little sheepish. "Maybe a little. Sorry about that."

          Ellison shrugged. "Don't worry about it. Is that it?"

          Blair nodded, pushing himself to his feet, his move matched by his partner. "Yep. It's done. Now, let's go kick some ass!" He grasped Jim's wrist and they stepped off the blanket.

          Jim blinked, finding himself seated on grass again, the tree's branches gently shifting over his head, Blair's hand still on his wrist. For just a minute he thought he saw a light tracery of blue around his partner's wrist, and then it was gone as the anthropologist pulled free, rising to his feet. "Ready?"

          Ellison rose, brushing himself off, feeling the captain's gaze on them. "Sandburg, why does this kind of thing always end up with us sitting on the ground? Is it against some kind of shamanic law that we can't use chairs or something?"

          Blair grinned. "Come on, let's go!" He spun, heading toward the house at a quick trot, and Jim shook his head and followed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It hit him when he took the last step to the porch. Darkness exploded around him, pelting him with slivers of ebony, and he staggered, bowing his head against the onslaught. A pit opened in the sky, sucking all his energy in one huge gulp, and he went to one knee, fighting not to pass out.

          It was too strong. He knew that, realizing in one horrifying moment that, experienced as he was in shamanic matters, this was too much even for him. This… being, for he could tell it was just that, an entity in its own right, was simply too much for any one person to deal with, and he was still very young as shamans went. It would take a team to handle this being. Alone, he didn't have a chance. He fell to both knees, grasping at consciousness with both hands, feeling it slip through his fingers like silk.

          It wanted him. He knew that, and knew that it was going to have him.

          And then Jim was with him, a cliff of granite strength, a wind of hot, dry scents sweeping over him, and he fell into their gestalt, glad strength sweeping through him.

The darkness popped like a soap bubble, gone in an instant, and he swayed, finding himself on his knees, leaning against Jim, one hand grasping his partner's shirt in a death grip. The Sentinel knelt beside him, his arm firm across the post-doc's shoulders, holding him close.

Blair was content to simply stay like that for a long moment, gasping, then forced his eyes open, blinking as the reality of the bright summer day flooded in, grounding him instantly.

"Wow," he whispered, managing to unclench his fist from Ellison's shirt and straightening, noticing Turner leaning tensely against the railing at the far end of the porch, his face white.

Still on his knees beside him, Jim looked down, not loosening his grip. "We're going to talk about this, Sandburg. Later."

Blair took a deeper breath, then another and nodded. "Yeah, big guy. I think we'd better." He took another breath, his shoulders starting to relax. "Later."

He shifted, looking up at Jim. "But for now, we've got a crime scene to inspect. And we'd better get to it."

Ellison frowned at him. "Chief–"

"I'm all right, Jim," the shaman reassured, pushing himself to his feet, but holding onto the bigger man's shoulder as his balance wavered, then firmed.

          The detective stood, placing one hand on his shoulder. "You're sure?"

          Blair looked up at him, feeling the Sentinel testing the truth of his answer. "Yeah. Yeah, I am." He looked across at the captain, then frowned. Releasing Jim, he stood for a moment, testing himself, then paced over to the other man, studying him intently.

          Turner met the gaze, his own eyes shuttered again. He was still somewhat pale, though, and the shaman's eyes narrowed, the younger man reaching to touch the captain's wrist. The other man shifted away, but not fast enough, and Blair nodded. "You saw that."

          Turner glanced away, not answering, and Sandburg smiled faintly. "You have the gift."

          The captain didn't look at him, but after a moment of silence, he nodded once.

          "Umm," the anthropologist murmured. "Maybe we need to talk, too. But later." He turned back to Jim, who was watching them both with raised eyebrows, and smiled. "So, ready?"

          Ellison hesitated, then returned the smile. "Sure, Chief. Let's go kick some ass."

          Blair grinned, falling into step with the Sentinel as they headed toward the house. "Whatever you say, man."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "So it's two men and a woman."

Turner's voice was thoughtful, and Jim nodded wearily, trying not to look as tired as he felt. It had been a very long ninety minutes in the house, with both he and Blair fighting his reaction to the mixture of scents the entire time. Now his head throbbed viciously, and reaching up, he fingered the bridge of his nose, wishing that he could just take an aspirin or something to banish the ache. "Yeah," he agreed, trying not to slur the reply. "That might help narrow down the field."

"Yes, it might," the captain nodded, then glanced over at Blair, who was sitting on the steps staring at the truck, his shoulders slumped. "I think you both have the rest of the day off. This took a lot out of you."

Ellison nodded, too tired to protest. "We'll see you tomorrow then." He turned, heading toward the Guide with a tired stride. "Come on, Chief, we're going home."

"Amen to that," Blair muttered, pushing himself to his feet with a visible effort. "See you tomorrow, sir," he added over his shoulder, stumbling as he started toward the truck.

"Yes," Turner agreed, watching them climb into the vehicle. "Take it easy driving home. And give me a call when you get there." He didn't bother to raise his voice, and couldn't repress the shiver when Jim raised a hand in acknowledgment.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "So this kind of thing happens a lot with them?" Turner's voice was quiet, not carrying past their corner booth, and Joel eyed him, taking a thoughtful bite of his burger.

          "The shaman stuff? Yeah, a fair amount," he admitted when he'd swallowed. He watched the other man nod, and added, "You know, Dave, to be honest, I expected you to be pretty angry when you found out about it. Figured you'd think all of us had deliberately left you out of the loop."

          The captain shot him a hard glance, his fingers tightening around his glass, the liquid inside sloshing slightly. "Did you?"

          "Yes," Joel answered candidly. "Explaining the Sentinel/Guide connection was hard enough without adding this. And I don't think they thought you'd believe them."

          "Fair enough," Turner answered mildly, releasing the glass and reaching for his own burger. "It's a pretty strange thing to try to explain, and I'm not sure I would've believed them."

          Joel nodded. "So, why aren't you mad?"

          Dave shrugged. "I know now."

          Taggert eyed him, setting his burger down and choosing a few fries. "You took a lot more convincing to prove the Sentinel/Guide thing."

          "Practice," the captain answered, a smile curving his lips as he bit into his lunch.

          "Huh," Joel grunted, smiling himself. He studied the other man for a moment and then nodded. "You saw something, didn't you?"

          "Saw what?"

          Taggert grinned wryly, setting down his drink. "You saw something."

          Abruptly dead sober, Turner stared at him, and Joel nodded again. "Yep, you did. So did I, once. That was enough for me."

          The blond stared at him, his burger forgotten in his hands. "What did you see?"

          Joel shook his head, his smile gone. "I couldn't tell you in words. It was so quick that all I had were images and feelings. It happened about six months ago, when somebody wanted to play metaphysical games and challenge Blair. Sandburg swatted him down, but not before he got taken by surprise a time or two. I got pulled into it once, but only for an instant."

          Turner studied him, finally nodding. "I've had the gift all my life, but thank God it's a small one. When I was working the streets I depended on it a lot more, but I could never control it the way Blair seems to. Is that part of being a Guide, or is it just him?"

          Joel put his drink down, choosing another fry. "Damned if I know. I doubt he does, either. Incacha was a shaman, too, when he worked with Jim in the jungle, but whether it goes with being a Guide or not, no one knows. But it seemed to start big-time when Incacha told Blair he was Shaman of the City, whatever that means. I mean, he'd always been part of some small weirdness, but not like what happened after that. And shaman stuff has cropped up ever since."

          "Umm." The blond ate steadily for a few minutes, then shook his head. "That's rough."

          "Yep," Taggert agreed, finishing off his burger. "I've always wondered if Blair sort of acts as a catalyst to those he's around, especially if they have any of the talent themselves."

          "Wouldn't be surprised," Turner agreed, draining the last of his drink. "I'll be just as happy if it never happens again."

          "Don't bet on it," Joel warned. "Around that kid things happen, and you might find you can't walk away from it."

          Dave grimaced. "I'll keep that in mind. You ready to go?"

          "Uh-huh." Joel scooped up the ticket lying on the table, just beating Turner to it. "My treat."

          "This time," the other captain agreed as they stood. "I'll get the next one."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The city lay spread before him, vast and mysterious and his. Darkness blossomed across it, and he watched it with a deep feeling of contentment, power coursing through him as the shadow grew, the city lights dimming as he gazed, until, one by one, they winked out.

          Everything and everyone was his. Turner knelt before him, his head bowed, and Blair kicked him, hard. The man fell over, and Sandburg smiled, glancing over at Jim. Ellison bent his head in acquiescence, and when he raised it again, the post-doc saw the fear and respect in his eyes. It made him warm, and he stood up a little straighter, pride humming through him.

          Rafe hurried over to set his coffee before him, fixed just right. Henri followed with his donuts, and Kane quickly leaned over to scrub his desk before the food touched the wood. Blair shoved him aside and sat down, accepting the food with a nod. It was his, after all.

          And Simon stepped out of the office, his gaze fixed on the floor as he approached. The anthropologist gestured him to speak, waiting for the report, and the captain opened his mouth–

          And right there the dream hit a doorstop and halted, mid-scene, and Blair jerked himself out of it with a start.

          He lay still for a long moment, staring up at the darkened ceiling, the sheets cool against his hot skin. Power still churned through him, and he took a deep breath, reaching for the depths of the earth, visualizing the chaotic, bubbling mass being sucked down into it, a whirlpool of shadow and darkness draining from him, followed by white light that spun and stretched through every part of his skin. And only when he felt clean and whole again did he move, sitting up and throwing back his covers as he swung his feet to the floor.

          Working by feel and memory, he pulled open one of his desk drawers, his fingers sliding over the contents until he located the box of matches and extracted it, then closed the drawer and stepped carefully toward the door. He paused beside his bookshelf, carefully gathering up several of the candles set there, and then exited the room, briefly glad that he'd told the Sentinel to set up his white noise generator tonight, on the premise that it might help him to sleep after the exhausting experience of the day.

          Moving into the living room, he seated himself on the couch, setting the candles on the coffee table fronting it, and struck one of the matches. It flared bright in the dark room, and he blinked, squinting until his eyes adjusted. Leaning over, he lit the candles, then sat back, pulling his legs up until he sat crosslegged on the sofa, where he relaxed, staring at the flickering flames.

          A temptation dream. He'd never had one before, but the feel, the images, were unmistakable. He grimaced, chewing his lip. It was one thing, and bad enough, to face his own subconscious images in his own personal space, but to deal with them when some entity was trying to use them against him was something else again. He felt dirty, used, and he took a deep breath, exhaling in one frustrated huff.

          _But I know about those places in myself, have known for a long time. And I haven't used them. Sure, it'd be easier sometimes to force Jim to my way of thinking. And I could do it._

          He paused, shaking his head. _No, that's not true. Once, in the beginning, I could've done that, if I'd known how to be a Guide and a shaman instead of just guessing. But I couldn't coerce Jim now, even if I wanted to. And I don't want to! I've never wanted to!_

          "And that's why I trust you."

          Blair jerked, skewing around to stare at the Sentinel. "What–? How–?" He paused, taking a deep breath and trying to center himself. "I thought–"

          Jim straightened from where he'd been leaning against the wall, and pacing over, seated himself in the chair that sat cattycorner to the couch. "A white noise generator can't drown out the link, Chief."

          Sandburg stared at him, then bent his head, covering his face with his hands. "You saw the dream." The words were barely a whisper, but he felt the man's nod and cringed, not daring to look up. _I'm sorry. Oh, God, I'm so sorry_.

          "Blair." Ellison's voice was very quiet. "All my life people around me have been trying to manipulate me. From my father on, I just couldn't get away from it. Even Carolyn did." He paused, and the Guide could feel his steady gaze. "You didn't."

          The observer didn't move, didn't dare.

          "You didn't, Chief. The dream was a dream, nothing more. And not even yours."

          "But–"

          "No buts. It wasn't yours."

          Blair dropped his hands, staring down at the floor. "Yes, it was." The words were only a whisper, and he felt his friend frown. "Those were my images, my desires."

          Jim shook his head. "No, they weren't, Chief. Oh, maybe at some level – I mean, I can appreciate wanting to kick Turner. Hell, I wanted to do a whole lot more than that, so I think you were pretty restrained, on the whole. And Simon, well, after all the harassment you get – got – from him, it makes sense that it'd be nice to have him reporting to you for once." He hesitated, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "And as for me…"

          Blair swallowed convulsively. "Jim, I–"

          "Sandburg. You told me once that every person in a relationship had his fantasies about what he'd like to do to the other one. Remember?"

          The observer took a deep breath and lifted his head, shaking his hair back. "Yeah, I do."

          "Then apply it to yourself and let's move on. We need to talk about this… thing that wants you."

          Sandburg hesitated and then nodded. "Okay." He chewed his lip for a long moment, adding, "I can't stand against it. Not alone, anyway."

          Jim nodded. "I could feel that, this morning." He saw the observer's surprised glance and smiled. "Chief, I'm a cop. We're trained to know when to back off and call for support. Now it's your turn to do that." He hesitated and said carefully, "You said that Turner had the gift. You mean he's a shaman?"

          Blair blinked at the seeming change of topic, but shrugged. "No, I don't think so, or at least, if he has the potential, he's not there yet. He has the sight, maybe the power, but not the controlled use of it, would be my guess."

          Ellison sighed. "I guess that means you can't call on him as backup, then."

          "No," the Guide answered flatly. "Besides, I don't want any backup from anyone but you. And we seemed to work well against it."

          "True enough," Jim agreed, then cocked an eyebrow at him. "It didn't seem to like us, did it?"

          "No," Blair agreed thoughtfully, "it didn't. The gestalt really seems to flatten it, I think."

          "That means that I need to be in the loop," Ellison observed. "What else do we know about this… thing?"

          "Well, it's definitely what I've been dreaming about the last few weeks," Sandburg commented. "And I think that it's been stalking me for a while."

          "All that time you spent being tired," the detective agreed. "We know that you can't defeat it alone, and together we seem to put it out of commission, at least as regards its effect on you. Maybe that's why it sent you the dream, trying to drive us apart."

          "Possibly," the Guide agreed, frowning. "But frankly, I don't think it cares about you as a person, Jim, or what we mean to each other. I think it has a very limited notion of humankind except as to how we satisfy its needs. It wants me, and from the dream I'd say it wants me as a partner, or something like that. You're merely the current trash to be moved out of the way."

          Ellison snorted. "Now that's encouraging. But if it's this powerful, why would it need a partner?"

          "I don't know," Blair answered, shrugging. "I don't get any feel of personality from it, just force, so maybe it just needs a partner to act as a sort of channel." A memory of the afternoon's struggle swept through him and he paled. "Of course, there might not be anything left of the partner after it was done."

          "Not if what I saw this afternoon was any indication," Jim growled, reining back his instinctive anger at the threat to his friend. He took a breath and continued. "So for the moment you're protected, unless it finds a way to get around the two of us. That should buy us some time, at least."

          "I think one way of getting rid of you is pretty obvious, big guy," the observer said, his tone worried. "It can set you up to be killed."

          The idea struck them both at the same time, and they looked at each other and nodded.

"Deren," Blair said. "I wondered how he knew to use a white noise generator on you."

"Yeah," Jim said quietly. "I guess that makes sense. This… entity teamed up with him, some way."

"Looks like it," Sandburg agreed. "I knew he was more than just shadowed when I saw him, but everything happened so fast I didn't think about it afterwards. But he's not the only one with a grudge against you out there, and my guess is the entity can manipulate a lot of people. So we really need to keep an eye out."

"And not just for me," Jim pointed out. "This is obviously where that kidnap scenario comes from, and that means that anyone on the street can be used to try snatching you." He frowned and grimaced. "I guess you really wouldn't be safer in protective custody."

"Not on your life," Blair said grimly. "For both our sakes, we've got to stay together, and stay alert."

"Yeah," the detective muttered. "At least I don't have to be with you to be in the link. So if something happens to you we can still fight it off."

"Ah, maybe not," the younger man said lowly, continuing at his friend's startled glance. "If someone grabs me and I'm not knocked out that might work, but I don't think the entity necessarily needs me to be conscious if it wants to 'partner' with me, Jim. I think it'd like my cooperation if it can get it, but it doesn't need it. And if I'm unconscious or drugged, the link is no help to us in fighting it, because both of us have to be involved for it to work."

Jim stared at him, feeling his own blood pressure jump. "I _don't_ like this, Chief."

Blair sighed, leaning back against the couch. "I know. But, hey, man, I think as long as we're on guard it'll find us hard to take. As long as we're together it can't do more than attack me, and those attempts haven't worked that well."

 _Yet_ , Ellison thought but bit back the word, hoping the shaman hadn't caught it. "Sandburg, what can we do to put it on the run?"

          "That," Blair answered, frowning, "is the sixty-four-thousand dollar question." He paused, then added, "I've got another one, too: where is it?"

          Jim blinked at him. "What?"

          "Where is it?" the anthropologist questioned. "I mean, it's an entity in its own right, but it does have form and substance, of a sort, anyway, even on the metaphysical plane. So where is it?" He gestured around himself. "It's not here, or around here. Or at least I can't sense it. But it's been stalking me for weeks, plaguing me with dreams, and it's started attacking me during daylight. So where is it? And where'd it come from? It sure wasn't here before."

          "And how's it getting through those screens you put around this place?" Jim finished. "Without you knowing?" His voice held the slightly embarrassed tone that he usually used when speaking of the "shaman stuff," but his gaze was steady on the Guide.

          "Now that's an even better question," Blair muttered. "But there are many planes of reality, maybe it just slips in through a side door I haven't closed. Yet."

          "Whatever you say," Ellison commented, his tone blank.

          The anthropologist glanced at him and grinned. "I'll just have to do some work around here, that's all."

          "Not alone." Jim's voice was firm, and the Guide hesitated, then shrugged.

          "You can't be with me all the time, Jim. I mean, I'm going to be working on the shields; that's my line of work, and you can't really help me there."

          "No," the Sentinel agreed, studying him, "but I want to know when you're doing it, and I want to be here. Just in case," he added at Blair's grimace.

          The younger man sighed. "All right. That's reasonable. I'll do it tomorrow, probably after I get back from school."

          "Good," Ellison said with approval, moving to stand. "Chief."

          Uncrossing his legs, the shaman looked up. "Yeah?"

          "Are we telling Turner about this?" Blair hesitated before answering, and the Sentinel added, "The entity is obviously the one who wants to snatch you. Under ordinary circumstances I'd say he needs to know that, but–"

"I think we've hit him over the head with enough weirdness recently without adding that bit," the Guide commented, straightening and dropping both feet to the floor. "I say we don't tell him, at least not yet. I'm hoping we can find our own way out of this, but I don't know if he'd leave us alone to let us."

Jim nodded. "Fine with me. That done, let's go to bed. You're still healing, Sandburg," he added when Blair hesitated. "Unless you figure the dreams will come back."

          The anthropologist shook his head. "No. I just wasn't sure that I can go back to sleep."

          "Just give it your best shot," Jim advised, offering him a hand as he stood. "And relax."

          Blair took a deep breath, then blew it out and smiled up at him, turning toward his bedroom. "I'll try, man. And, hey, thanks – for everything."

          "No problem," the detective answered, halting at the foot of the stairs. "Just remember I'm here if you need me."

          "I will."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Well, there's four of them. Women jewel thieves, I mean," Turner added as the two men sat down in front of his desk the next morning. "Here's their profiles." He handed Jim four file folders and watched the man flip through them, Blair leaning over to look as well.

          "Three of them are known to work with associates, and the fourth was spotted in this area a few months ago." The captain shrugged. "I figured maybe she changed her habits."

          "Worth a try," Jim grunted, closing the file folders. "We'll see what we can find out about them."

          Turner nodded. "And some other news, too. There's going to be jeweler's convention in Cascade in three days time. There's nothing of interest to us in that, except that two museums wanted to take advantage of the situation, so they're each hosting a traveling exhibition – one's a late Bronze Age Celtic show, with a lot of gold items, and the other's a pre-Soviet exhibit, with lots of jewels and enamels. Both start tomorrow."

          "Cool!" Blair breathed, his eyes dancing. "I've gotta get over there!"

          "Oh, you will," Turner answered, tossing him a slightly feral grin. "You're going to be visiting both, to see if Jim can pick up anything if the thieves case them."

          "Great!"

          "Sounds like they'd have a hard time turning down that kind of opportunity," Jim agreed, cuffing Sandburg gently on the side of the head as he bounced in his chair. "We'll head out to see them tomorrow afternoon."

          The captain nodded. "Good. Hopefully you can pick up something." The phone rang, and he glanced at the caller ID and grimaced. "Dismissed."


	4. Chapter 4

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Man, these are such great exhibits!" Blair enthused, bouncing on his heels as he stared around the museum. "I have so got to get over here later! And to the Celtic exhibition, too – we didn't have any time there to look around."

          "Well, do it later, all right already, Chief?" Jim asked, shifting impatiently. "We have a job to do."

          "Oh, sure," Sandburg agreed, not at all abashed. "Okay, let's start at the entry to the exhibit, which is where the thieves will have to enter, too, just like everyone else." He led the way over to the small line of people waiting to buy tickets. "Did you know this theater has an IMAX showing, too? It's about exploring Antarctica, and looks like a real blast!"

          "How do you know all this?" Jim asked, frowning down at him.

          Blair rolled his eyes. "Duh, Jim. The ad's been showing for weeks now; haven't you noticed?"

          "Not really," the detective muttered, stepping up to a teller with relief as their turn came. "Two for the museum."

          "Then you really missed something, man," the post-doc said. "I'll tell you, on an IMAX screen it'll be fantastic!"

          "We aren't seeing the movie, Sandburg," Ellison pointed out as he scooped up their tickets and led the way to the roped-off entryway, handing them to the man standing there and accepting the stubs, which he stuffed into a pocket.

          "All right," Blair said, abruptly all business. "Now let's walk slow, so you don't miss anything. Just take careful breaths, not too deep, don't want to zone out if that mix of scents hits you. Just wander from one exhibit to another, and we'll see what comes up." He glanced up at the older man, noting his faint squint as he looked across the floor, and added, "And tone down the visual dial some, cut some of the glitter from the gold."

          Jim felt his shoulders relax as the glare dropped and wondered, not for the first time, how his Guide always knew when he was having a problem and what it was. Not to mention how to fix it. It wasn't like he himself couldn't identify when something was a strain, or didn't know how to lessen it, but it always seemed to work better for Blair.

          "My job security," the younger man teased, and the Sentinel rolled his eyes.

          "Sandburg…"

          They were almost to the end of the exhibits when he caught the scent and grimaced. Sweet, so sweet. Man, he hated perfume.

          Blair saw the expression and caught his arm, tugging him away from the glass case they stood by, his action garnering some interested glances from the two older women who stood close by. "Okay, back off, man. Come on, a few more steps." They'd discovered that if the Sentinel managed to minimize his exposure to one of the scents before he caught the mixture that signaled the thieves' former presence that he could head off the worst of the effect.

          "You're sure it's the same one?" the Guide asked when they stood in an alcove, studying Ellison intently. "I mean, other people probably wear that brand of perfume, too."

          Jim shrugged, rubbing his itching nose and trying not to sneeze. "I'm sure. If we're right, the other one should be here, too."

          "Yeah," Sandburg agreed, frowning. "I'd just rather you avoided catching the mix, that's all. Let's see." He frowned, glancing across the exhibits. "Okay, that case that set you off was the crowns of the Czars. Makes sense they'd be interested in that one, but what's another reasonable target?"

          "Over there," Ellison answered, nodding at a case in which gem-laden necklaces could be seen.

          Blair glanced over and smiled. "Yeah, that would do it. Diadems and chokers and stuff like that would go over big, you'd think. Okay, but let's go slow," he added as the detective started toward the exhibit.

          The Sentinel eased his pace, sniffing as he moved forward, and trying not to make his actions too obvious to any of the other patrons around, several of which were eying the two men warily.

          Two paces away from the case Jim halted, wrinkling his nose. The sour smell of sweat and liquor pervaded his nostrils, coating his tongue, and he grimaced, turning and heading toward the far end of the room, the Guide keeping pace.

          "Something?" Sandburg asked as they slowed next to a wall exhibit, pretending to stare at it.

          Ellison coughed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I think so. But it's hard to tell when the scents are single. Other people sweat and drink, too."

          "You know, given how professional these guys are," Blair commented, "I'm surprised one of them drinks and doesn't bathe. Doesn't seem to fit the group's profile."

          Jim shrugged. "It doesn't have to be much sweat, Sandburg, or much to drink. Less than a single beer would give them the smell, at least for me. Someone else might not even notice. This guy happens to have a particular body scent that smells bad to me. Liquor and sweat just make it worse, that's all."

          "Umm," the anthropologist murmured. "I guess so. Just reminds me to take a shower every day, that's all."

          "You do that anyway," the detective pointed out without looking away from the room. "And you don't have to worry."

          "Gee," Blair said, grinning, "does that mean that I smell good?"

          The Sentinel looked down at him. "Don't push it, Junior."

          "Does that mean I do or I don't?"

          "We've got more important things to do here than discuss that."

          "That's not an answer."

          "It's all the answer you're going to get, Sandburg. Let's go." The older man started purposely toward the doorway leading to the main hall, trailed by a grinning anthropologist.

          Halfway across the room Ellison started to wheeze. Blair grabbed him, rushing him through the doorway into the next room and over to a corner, where he dug through his pockets and pulled out an inhaler, shaking it hastily before handing it to the Sentinel. "Here, try this."

          Too caught up in his increasingly strained breathing to protest, the older man accepted the object, fumbling the small container open and taking a deep breath. The wheezing fell off immediately, and the shaman took the inhaler back, closing it and shoving it into his pocket again. "Don't try more than one puff, man – I don't want you to overdose. This mixture can be powerful."

          After a few more breaths, Ellison smiled down at him. "Thanks, Chief. What is that stuff?"

          The Guide smiled a little, shrugging. "Just an herbal inhalant I made up yesterday. I was hoping we could use it instead of the epi-pen."

          Jim took another long breath, feeling his heartbeat drop back to normal. "Well, you did a great job. I'd say it worked real well."

          Blair blushed a little. "Thanks. Guess we can go tell the cap– Turner," he corrected, his gaze sobering, "that we've got the museum, since you didn't pick up anything at the other one."

          "Yeah," the detective agreed, dropping an arm across the younger man's shoulders as they headed toward the exit, "but let's hope they don't case both and choose the other one."

          The consultant shrugged. "Guess there's always that chance. But still, this one just feels right, you know?"

          Ellison chuckled, releasing Sandburg as they entered the huge atrium that made up the museum entrance. "Yeah, it does. Let's go tell him."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Jim, I'm heading out for a while, okay? I'll see you for supper."

          Ellison glanced up from his seat on the couch, eying the anthropologist standing at the door to the loft. "What're you off to?"

          Blair shifted from foot to foot, then shrugged. "Oh, you know, just around. I just have to get out for a while," he added as the detective's eyes narrowed. "Nothing to worry about, I'll be back for supper."

          The Sentinel stared at him, listening to that inner sense that was beginning to echo stronger between them as the years passed. "Is this shaman stuff, Sandburg?"

          The post-doc's gaze slid sideways, then back to meet the other man's. "It's nothing big."

          "Chief, I thought we agreed that you wouldn't do anything like this alone. Especially after what happened before."

          The anthropologist pursed his lips. "Well, technically, you don't have to be there with me anymore. I mean, if something went wrong you could be there with me anyway, with the link." Ellison's eyebrows rose, and the shaman looked away. "I don't want to bother you," he muttered, studying the floor.

          Jim pushed the papers he was studying into a rough pile and placed it haphazardly on the coffee table, then stood. "Let's go."

          "Jim–"

          "Not alone, Sandburg. We agreed on that a long time ago."

          The younger man swallowed and looked up to meet his eyes. "All right." A breath later, as the detective pulled his shoes on, Sentinel-soft, the shaman muttered, "Thanks."

          Finishing his task, Ellison stood, snagging a water bottle off the cabinet as he strode past it, and laying a hand on the anthropologist's shoulders, he squeezed briefly as he opened the door and pushed him out of the loft. Halting to lock the door behind them, he said, "It's not a problem, Chief." Remembering his friend's words to Turner days earlier, he grinned. "This is what I am, what I do. We're partners, remember?" He felt the flush that rushed through the post-doc and smiled as he followed him out of the building.

          A few minutes later, turning the key in the truck's ignition, the detective asked, "So where're we going, Sandburg?"

          Relaxed in the seat beside him, Blair frowned. "I'm not sure." Seeing his friend's raised eyebrow, he added, "I'm hoping to find the entity's area of influence. But I wasn't really sure how to do it except by driving around the city, trying to find where the shadow is strongest." He grimaced at the look he received and said defensively, "Hey, man, sometimes this shaman stuff is not much more than hit and miss. I mean, it's not a physical being I can track down and corner."

          "Good point," the detective grunted, backing the truck and then shifting gears as he glanced both ways on the weekend-emptied street. "Okay," he said as he turned, "then I guess one direction's as good as another, right?"

          "Uh huh," Blair said, and looking at the absent listening look on his face, Ellison said nothing more, simply following the directions the young man gave at random intervals.

          Half an hour later the shaman blinked out of his reverie and glanced around, blinking. "Whoa, man. This is so not a good side of town."

          "You got that right," Jim muttered as he swerved to miss a pothole, keeping a careful eye on the group of young men lounging against the wall of a store. "I've already seen at least three drug deals and two fights."

          "Gang territory, too," Blair noted as they drove past a wall scrawled with graffiti.

          "Yeah." Ellison bit the word off. "Did you get what we came for, Sandburg? This isn't a good place for us, especially without anyone knowing where we are."

          The observer grimaced, watching an older woman exit her house with a young child by her side, looking away when she glared at him. "Yeah, I can see that. And I sort of found what I was looking for."

          "Sort of?" Jim repeated, not looking away from the road as it curved. Trees and grass took over one side of the street, a sign announcing "Cardiff Park." Graffiti made the words almost unreadable.

          Sandburg shrugged, chewing the inside of his lip. "Can we stop here?"

          "Chief!"

          "Just for a few minutes," the anthropologist answered, looking at him. "It's open space, you can hear anyone trying to come up on us. I just need to check a map."

          "I know where we are," the detective pointed out as he swung into the park.

          "It's not us I'm looking for," Blair answered patiently, leaning over to dig through his backpack as the older man parked the car in a largely empty lot. He started to push open the door, but Jim put a hand on his arm, halting the move.

          "Wait," the man growled, cocking his head as he focused. "All right," he said a moment later. "There's a drug buy going on over that hill," he added, nodding at the rise to their left, "but I think we'll be okay as long as we don't head in that direction. The rest of the area is clear."

          "Thanks, man," the shaman said, smiling as he slid out of the vehicle, where he unfolded the map and laid it out over the hood. "Since we aren't going anywhere, that should keep people happy."

          He found their location on the map and tapped it with a finger. "All right. I know this whole area is shadowed, but I don't want to have to drive through every part of town to chart the others."

          "Same here," Ellison agreed, standing beside him and studying the map. "Especially because if this is an example of where it likes to stay I bet I know what the other areas look like."

          "Maybe," Blair agreed, "but I can't assume it's that predictable from one case." He ducked back into the car and dug a red pen out of his backpack, rejoining Jim quickly. "I wonder…" Closing his eyes, he set the pen's nub against the map and after a hesitation started to draw.

          The Sentinel watched as the line swept across the city, circling some neighborhoods while ignoring others. The younger man was caught up in the task when the attack hit.

          Black coldness dropped like a curtain, sucking the heat from the Guide's body in one frigid blast, and suddenly he found himself alone, buried in darkness that constricted his breathing, forcing him to wheeze.

Blair dropped the pen and slid to one knee, his eyes closed, gasping.

Jim ground his teeth and dropped beside him, pulling his partner into his grasp and reaching for the link. There was a moment of searing union between them, and for a long moment Ellison felt the asphalt under his own knees, saw the darkness that pressed down on his chest, and then it was gone, and he opened his eyes to the bright summer day.

"Whew!" Blair muttered, leaning against him. "Man, this is getting old real quick."

"Amen to that," Ellison agreed, pulling the younger man to his feet and glancing around. Luckily, it looked like no one had seen their momentary attention lapse, and he reached for the map, glancing at his friend, who stood still, leaning heavily on the car. The faint sheen of sweat across the Guide's forehead strengthened the detective's determination to get his partner home, where he could rest. "Sandburg, are we done here?"

The anthropologist closed his eyes for a moment, then braced himself on the car and placed a hand on the map. "Let me look," he said, bending to study the expanded sheet.

Jim could hear the strain under the voice and grimaced, but held his peace, inching closer to the younger man just in case. His caution was justified when Blair nodded and stood up straighter. "Yeah, that'll do it," he said, grinning up at the Sentinel, a grin that slipped as his balance wavered.

Ellison moved in, setting a firm arm across his partner's shoulders. "Good. So we can go home now?"

"Uh-huh," Sandburg agreed tiredly, leaning into the half-hug.

Jim looked down at him, knowing that a pair of young men were standing on the crest of the hill watching them and finding, abruptly, that he didn't care. "Come on, Chief." He ushered the shaman to the passenger side and opened the front door. "Climb in."

The observer did so, but the detective kept a hand on his back until the man dropped into the seat, then closed the door and headed around the vehicle to his own side, glancing up at the two teenagers watching him as he did so. He was prepared to glare at them, but their expressions were sober, and for just a moment, as his eyes met theirs, their hands touched, then broke apart. Jim read the movement without difficulty and sighed. He and Blair might not have that relationship, but what they had was closer than many couples ever achieved, and he had no problem with same-sex attraction. But he wouldn't wish it on teens in a neighborhood like this, and he lifted a hand to them as he opened the driver-side door and slid in.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Sure you're up to this, Chief?" Ellison glanced at his companion, frowning. "That was pretty intense earlier today."

Blair frowned at the museum, hunching into his light flannel. The AC in the truck was ultra-efficient sometimes, but being a little chilled sure beat dealing with the thick humidity of the summer night outside its closed windows. "I'm fine, Jim," he said absently, watching a woman and an older man make their way up the well-lit sidewalk and push one of the many doors open. He heard the silence in the truck and glanced over at his partner, smiling reassuringly at him. "Honest," he added, feeling the tension in his friend fade at the words, "I really am. That nap this afternoon helped, and I feel pretty good right now. I'm good to go if anything happens."

The Sentinel rolled his eyes. "Something better happen, or Turner's going to skin us before the chief skins him."

The anthropologist chuckled. "Well, you can't blame him," he said in answer to his friend's sigh. "He _is_ getting the heat, and pretty badly, from what I've heard. Not to mention that with this crime wave he doesn't have anyone he can ask to do this with us. I know he doesn't like that."

"Yeah," Jim sighed. "That triple murder on the south side killed what was left of Major Crimes after that kidnapping this morning."

Blair shook his head. "Man, I wouldn't be in his shoes for anything.   I hope tonight changes the tide. You're sure that you can hear them inside okay?"

Ellison nodded. "Yeah, that routine we worked out earlier seems to work just fine – as long as I don't think about it too hard, anyway."

"Good." Blair bounced in his seat, then winced, carefully leaning back into the cushion.

"Be careful with that," Jim warned, glancing at him. "That graze still isn't up to much exercise, Chief."

"I hear you, I hear you," the Guide muttered, taking a careful breath. "Something?" he asked as the Sentinel cocked his head.

The detective was silent for a long moment, then nodded. "Let's move." Picking up his mike, he keyed it and said, "Captain? They're here. We're going in."

"I'll be there as soon as possible," Turner answered from his self-imposed stake-out at the other museum. "Be car–"

Ellison shut off the mike and yanked open the door, sliding out in one quick move and slamming the door behind him. "Ready, Chief?"

"Right behind you, big guy," Blair answered, matching the move and following the detective as he headed toward the building at a quick trot.

"See that you stay there," the Sentinel ordered as they neared the museum entrance. "No heroics, Sandburg. I mean it!"

"I never do heroics, Jim," the younger man commented, not bothering to raise his voice as the doors swung shut behind the Sentinel. "I just do the right thing at the right time, that's all." He shoved one of the doors open and entered, wincing as a scream echoed from deeper in the building.

Jim was already talking to the museum attendants, who were milling around nervously. One man was on the phone, but put it down when he saw the detective's badge.

"All right, everyone out of the building," Ellison directed, waving them toward the doors and turning toward one of the inner corridors.

Blair started toward him, only to be halted by a museum official, who stepped in front of him. "I'm sorry, sir, but you can't–"

"He's with me!" Jim's snap echoed across the atrium and the man stepped back, looking embarrassed and a little annoyed.

"Sorry, sir."

"No problem," Blair said, forcing a smile. A scream echoed from further in the building, and he spun, heading after his partner, who was almost out of sight down the hallway.

Ahead a harsh voice barked a command he couldn't quite understand, and the cries quieted, only a couple of sobs echoing down the corridor toward him. There was the crash of breaking glass and alarms went off, making him wince.

The detective ahead stopped hard and clapped his hands over his ears, and Blair broke into a run, ignoring the twinge in his side as he halted beside the man. "Turn the dial down, Jim," he said firmly, grasping the Sentinel's arm. "Go on, turn it down so you can't hear anything except my voice."

Ellison relaxed, removing his hands from his ears and looking down at his Guide. "Chief–"

"Now tune out the alarm," the younger man commanded. "You can still hear the people ahead of you, and me, but the alarm is a small buzz in the background that you can ignore."

The detective hesitated and then smiled at the observer. "It works! Thanks, Sandburg." And he was gone down the corridor.

Blair took a breath and followed him, wishing he could block out the alarm as easily as his Sentinel seemed to. Too bad a Guide couldn't guide himself. He watched the older man pass through an intersection ahead and shake his head violently, forging ahead at a quick pace.

Worried, the anthropologist sped up, reaching the same intersection only a few strides behind his partner, then huffed, trying not to sneeze as a wave of heavy perfume rolled over him. It wasn't the same as the thief's, but he grimaced as he strode on. _Ah, hell. That's going to sensitize Jim's nose, just when he doesn't need it_.

Ellison rounded the corner ahead, and Blair halted, knowing what was coming.

"Police! Freeze!"

Shouts echoed, a gun fired twice, then again, a woman screamed, and the observer broke into a run, rounding the corner to find a scene of chaos.

A small group of civilians crowded into a corner, their movement restless. Two men stood behind a woman near the Czar crown exhibit, all of them holding guns at the ready, and Blair's lips tightened. The men were shadowed, the woman claimed. He surveyed the rest of the room.

A man dressed in a security uniform lay on the ground nearby, broken glass from the case glittering around the rapidly growing pool of crimson that stained his clothes. The smell of blood was strong in the air, mingled with perfume and fear.

Jim stood a little ways from Blair, his gun trained on the three thieves. Blood was quickly darkening a patch on his upper left arm, but the observer took a breath, knowing it wasn't a serious injury.

No one had noticed the anthropologist, and he stepped back into the shadows of the doorway, feeling his Sentinel's awareness of his position as he set himself.

"All right," Ellison said, his gaze never wavering from the three thieves, "slow and easy, lay down your weapons."

One of the men looked desperately at the woman, his gaze flicking to the downed security guard. "Carla–"

"Shut up!" she snarled. "There's one of him and three of us. You know what to do!"

The next few moments were a blur of action as the thieves dodged around the room, and Blair saw Ellison go down as two of them attacked him. Gunshots boomed in the room, the civilians' shouts and screams loud in the observer's ears, and he threw himself at the woman as she rushed by him.

There was a flurry of arms and legs, kicks and shoves and grunts, and then Blair had her under him and knelt on her back, trying hard to balance as she twisted under him, a task made much harder by the surge of revulsion he felt at touching her. Darkness seeped from her, and the shaman blinked away the fog threatening to blind him.

He thought he had it under control until he heard running steps from behind and pain exploded in his ribcage, running up and down his side. The woman bucked under him and he fell heavily, crashing into a wall and lying still.

Faintly he heard footsteps running away from him, and then there was only the fight to breathe.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Alarms blared from the museum as Turner and several other police cars swung into the parking lot, and the captain slid out of his car, slamming the door and sprinting toward the huddled figure sprawled on the lawn. Dropping to one knee beside it, he checked it briefly, then stood. "Male, might be one of the perps. He's alive," he tossed over his shoulder as he headed toward the building. "Call the paramedics."

Several other officers followed in his wake, catching up as he knelt by another body lying in the corridor, but he only paused a moment before moving on. "This one's alive, too."

They rounded a corner and Rafe and Brown both heard the breath hiss between Turner's teeth as the crumpled figure by the wall was revealed. A moment later he knelt by the anthropologist, pressing a finger against the carotid.

"He's alive." Standing, he gestured to Rafe. "Check him over, but be gentle." He turned toward the exhibit room, his expression grim. "Jim…" He let the comment trail off as he stepped into the large room, quickly scanning it.

A group of people milled around the space, a few kneeling next to an injured security man, trying to staunch his bleeding. Glancing around, the captain sighted Jim, also the center of a small group, and waving one of the other officers over to the guard, he headed toward the Sentinel.

"Give him some room!" he barked as he pushed his way through the crowd, which started to break up at his command, people moving back. He broke through the ring and looked down, his gaze quickly sweeping down the limp figure.

Jim lay on his back, his eyes open but blank, his chest heaving. A girl knelt beside him, wrapping a scarf around his arm and snugging it tight. A growing red stain quickly marked the fabric, attesting to the need for her attentions, and Turner dropped beside her, trying to rein back his worry as he noticed the detective's harsh breathing. "Thanks," he said sincerely. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

She glanced up at him, her gaze direct and measuring. "Red Cross classes." She looked back down and tugged the scarf a little tighter, and he smiled.

"Well, you did good work," he assured. "And the paramedics will be glad you were here."

She lifted a shoulder and dropped it, and he was abruptly reminded vividly of watching the anthropologist exhibit the same move a few days earlier. As if the memory could cross the space between them, Jim wheezed, then sucked in a breath. "Chief…"

The captain patted him on his good shoulder, halting mid-move when Ellison flinched. "Sandburg will be fine, Jim," he added, frowning when the man rolled his head from side to side. "He's injured, but it doesn't look serious."

"No…"

A wave of perfume rolled over the blond, and the girl beside him wrinkled her nose. Turner tried not to grimace, glancing up at the woman who stood beside him.

"Officer, I want to complain! My evening has been–"

The captain lost her words as Jim gasped, his breathing worsening into a wheezing series of attempts to breathe, and glancing up again Turner suddenly remembered that he was dealing with a Sentinel. _Oh, of course! The perfume!_ He rose, ushering the woman away. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but this is a crime scene, and there are injured people here. The paramedics will be arriving any minute and they need this space. You'll have to wait outside with the rest of the group. An officer will be along to take your complaint."

Before she had finished spluttering, he motioned one of the younger officers over and gestured to the civilians still milling around the room. "Take these people outside, Kirby, by some other route than the one the paramedics will be using."

The man nodded sharply and started collecting the civilians, most of whom were only too glad to follow his directions.

Turner started toward Jim, but Rafe intercepted him. The captain listened and then nodded. "Good. Keep me posted." Rafe nodded and the blond stepped back to Jim, smiling at the girl as she rose from her post beside the detective. "Thank you, ma'am," he said. "That was quick thinking on your part, and I appreciate it."

She shrugged and his lips quirked, recognizing the shyness. She glanced up at him, then blushed and spun, joining the group of people following the young officer out of the room.

The captain turned back to Ellison, dropping to one knee beside him. The detective's breathing had worsened, and his eyes met Turner's. The blond nodded and rose. "I'll get him."

He walked quickly to the doorway, his frown easing as several paramedics squeezed through, two of them quickly heading toward the injured security man, while another pair started toward Jim. Turner intercepted them. "Don't give him epinephrine," he ordered. "He has a really bad reaction to it."

Knowing the command could only hold them so long, he spun and crossed through the doorway, his pace quickening when he saw Blair struggling against the paramedics taping his ribs. "Let me go! I've got to–" His gaze fell on Turner, and he cut off the sentence. "Captain!"

"I need him," the blond said brusquely to the men treating the anthropologist. "Right now," he snapped when one of them started to protest. "You can have him back later." He offered Blair a hand up as the men backed up, looking unhappy, and the Guide grabbed it and scrambled to his feet. Turner didn't miss the gasp that went with the movement, or the twisted look of pain that flashed across the shaman's face, but the younger man hobbled toward the bigger room without hesitation.

Inside, the captain found himself required to again browbeat the paramedics off before they would allow Blair to join Jim, who was now turning slightly blue around the mouth. But it only took the younger man a few minutes before the detective's breathing eased, and Turner shook his head as he knelt beside them, the disgruntled paramedics stomping off, grumbling.

"The two of you are going to make me old before my time," he commented as Jim pushed himself up to lean against the wall. Blair relaxed in front of him, still watching him carefully, but both men smiled at the words. "What happened?"

Ellison sighed. "It went pretty well until the perps rushed me. We struggled, and I thought I had one of them, but the other one pounded his fist into the gunshot injury." He grimaced. "I lost my hold, and one of them grabbed for the gun. I kept it, but it went off while we were wrestling for it, and then the woman leaned in and slapped me." He looked down, his cheeks flushing. "Her perfume and the other man's scent–"

"Sent you into a real tailspin," Blair finished. "And then the allergy took over, made worse by the injury." He shook his head, his lips tight. "I'm sorry I wasn't here faster."

"It looked like you had your own problems, Sandburg," Turner interrupted before Jim could reply. "What happened on your end? I thought you were supposed to stay out of this kind of thing and let Ellison handle it?"

"I did say no heroics, Chief," the detective said hoarsely, trying not to cough.

Blair rolled his eyes. "I don't think tackling the woman constituted heroics, Jim. I had her, too, until someone came up behind me and kicked me in the ribs." He grimaced, avoiding the Sentinel's worried glare at this revelation. "I don't remember much after that."

"I'm not surprised," Turner replied dryly. "Two of your perps are in custody, both injured. The woman's missing. From the evidence, I'd say that one of the men was injured in his struggle with you, Jim, and the woman attacked the other one outside and took the loot. He managed to mark her, though, and we're following a blood trail now. We'll get her." He rose, brushing off his pants, and glanced around the room, now bustling with police and paramedics. "Good work, both of you. But I'd prefer it if you managed it next time without injuries. I want both of you checked over, and Sandburg, you need to finish having those ribs wrapped." He stared at them until they both nodded, and he smiled. "Good. Then go home. I'll see you Monday."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The city was even bigger than before, and blacker, too. And the power pouring into him was sweeter and heavier, like syrup.

          He was sitting at his large desk, Jim beside him. His desk was covered in papers, and Blair looked around the room, recognizing that it was too large in some places and too small in others, and grinned.

          Then he attacked.

          The dream shrank, dropping to the size of a tiny little ball barely visible in his hand, and he stood in the loft, the shields in all their translucent colors vibrating around the space.

          The ball rolled, dropping into a crack between his fingers and sped up, shooting toward the edge of his hand. "Not this time," the shaman said aloud and closed his fist, concentrating with eyes half-closed.

          The small sphere exploded, a small puff of smoke wafting through his clenched fingers. At the same time Blair threw himself forward, reaching to grab the shadow cringing in the corner of the room.

          It leaped upward, his clutching fingers just missing it as it swirled up and around and through a hair-thin crack that pulsed a faint orange-green.

          Empty-handed but still grinning, Blair stood in the middle of the room and smiled. "Gotcha!" He waved a hand at the tiny fissure, watching as a wave of blue-green fire surged through it, followed by a shaft of white light.

          The crack faded and vanished, only the pure, slow wash of the shields visible now, and Sandburg stretched, yawned, and released the vision. Turning over in his bed, he yawned again, still smiling, and snuggled into his covers, quickly falling asleep again.

He didn't wake up until morning.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "This isn't just a visit, is it, Chief?" Jim asked as they walked down the hallway toward Simon's room.

          Blair glanced up at him and shook his head. "No, this is a shaman thing."

          Ellison frowned down at him as they reached the door to the captain's room. "With Simon?"

          "Yes," Blair said, opening the door.

Jim shook his head and followed him inside. "Sandburg–" He cut the word off as the shaman lifted a finger to his lips.

          "Hey, Simon," the younger man said, pacing over to the bed and staring down at the man. "Sorry it's been a few days. It's been busy around here. We've got a lot to tell you, though." His sober expression didn't match the cheerful tone, and the detective joined him by the bed, his stomach tightening when Blair reached silently for his hand.

          Ellison grimaced, but accepted the handgrasp, following the younger man's lead and seating himself beside the shaman in one of the three straight-backed chairs set beside the bed.

          "We caught the bad guys," Blair rattled on, turning his head to meet Jim's glance and nodding.

          The Sentinel took a deep, quiet breath and closed his eyes.

          They stood in the loft. Outside nothing could be seen, only a thick, white fog, and Jim glanced at Blair, raising his eyebrows. The younger man nodded thoughtfully, then looked up at Ellison, meeting his eyes.

          "Last night I had a little… encounter with my want-to-be partner. I threw it out and it ran. This is its response _._ " He gestured at the billowing cloud outside. "It couldn't get in, so it decided to block me getting out."

          "But I thought you couldn't win against that… thing," Ellison said, frowning. "How'd that change?"

          Blair nodded. "That's true, in the real world. But this was my dream space, and all it could do there was manipulate my own power, my own images, against me. So when I seized control, it lost its edge and had to run." He saw the older man's grimace and smiled faintly. "Believe me, Jim, if it had gone badly I would've pulled you into it. But here I can stand against it, at least under those circumstances."

          Ellison nodded. "So, what're we doing here, Chief?"

          "You'll see."

          The detective grimaced, and Blair smiled at him. "Sorry, big guy, but I don't want you to have any expectations. Just go with me on this, okay?"

          Jim shrugged at him. "Whatever you want, Sandburg."

          The shaman turned to stare out at the fog, his eyes very intent. The mist wavered and then slowly turned transparent, and they could see.

          A large, white pavement stretched in front of them, black designs running across it. In the middle of the pavement was a large cage, man-height, and in the cage was Simon.

          Jim straightened, but Blair's fingers tightened on his. "No, don't do anything."

          The Sentinel took a deep breath, his teeth gritted.

          Simon stood pressed against the cage, his shoulders bent, hands clasping the bars. There were tired lines around his mouth and eyes, and he stared off to their left without blinking.

          The detective looked down at Blair, realizing he was studying the designs, and watched him for a long moment. The shaman finished and turned his attention to Simon, his mouth tightening.

          "What do you see?" Jim asked, suddenly sure that there was more here than he himself could perceive. He felt his partner hesitate, and tightened his grasp on his friend's hand.

          Blair nodded, and the space blurred around the loft, then cleared.

          Ellison bit back a gasp. Shadow curled around the cage, and around Simon, wrapping him in cords of black. He wasn't restrained, but he was obviously contained, and he stood still, obviously used to the enslavement.

          "Aren't we doing anything?" Jim bit out, staring at his old friend.

          "Not yet," Blair said, tugging the Sentinel to face him. "Come on, time to go."

          "But–"

          "Now! I can only hold the fog transparent a little longer, Jim, and we need to be gone before it realizes we were here."

          Ellison nodded, his jaw tight, and abruptly the fog was thick around the loft again.

          The shaman looked up at him. "We can't talk about this until we get to the truck, Jim. Not a word. Until then, you have to act natural."

          The detective nodded again, and then blinked as he suddenly found himself sitting in the chair beside Simon's bed, Blair's words rolling over him.

          "…and they caught the woman two blocks away, trying to break into a car. So, see, Simon, it went really well, and both of us are in pretty good shape. A few bruises, but, hey, nothing serious."

          Jim released Blair's hand, dimly aware of the tension in the tight grip, and took a deep breath, suddenly aware that he'd heard Blair's voice in the background all along, telling the story of their night in the museum. "I don't know, Chief," he objected, trying to steady his voice and surprised at how normal he sounded, "you keep bruising those ribs and Alan's going to throw you in the hospital just to keep you off the streets long enough to let them heal."

          Blair smiled at him approvingly, but his voice was disgusted. "It wasn't _that_ bad. I walked away from it, you know."

          "This time," Ellison injected, sotto voice. "Simon, I really wish you were here to help me keep Junior in line. I could use you." His breath caught on the last words and he halted, swallowing.

          "Yeah, I just bet you do," the anthropologist said, his voice abruptly sober. "I miss you, too, Simon. There's this movie I'd really like to share with you, called 'The Cavalry is Coming.' It's opening in a day or so, and I think you'd like it. So get ready, huh? One way or another I'm going to get you there."

          Jim blinked at him, his eyes wide, then grinned. "I remember the previews for that movie, Chief. I'm really looking forward to it."

          Blair smiled at him, a feral expression that Jim didn't remember seeing before. "Yeah, Jim, I am, too." He glanced down at Simon, then pushed back his chair and stood, adding, "Well, I've got to go. I've got this project I'm working on at the university and even on a Saturday I can't afford to be late. So, I'll see you again tomorrow. Hang in there, okay?"

          Ellison rose, too, then leaned over to pat Simon on the shoulder. "That's right, Simon. And I'll see you tomorrow, too." He followed Blair out, falling into step as they headed toward the parking lot.

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	5. Chapter 5

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "You're sure it's safe to talk here?" Jim asked after both truck doors had slammed. "It's broken through the shields before."

          Blair nodded, pulling the seat belt over and locking it. "Yeah, I'm sure. It can break through if it wants to, but I can tell if it's listening to us, and it's not." He took a breath, leaning back and relaxing as Ellison started up the truck. "You did really well back there, Jim. I know that wasn't easy."

          Ellison shifted the vehicle into gear and checked behind before backing up. "I guess you think that the entity can hear or see whatever Simon can, and that's why you didn't tell him outright."

          "That's my guess. But since it doesn't have much understanding of us, I'm pretty sure it doesn't understand idioms or cultural practices like movies, so we can use those against it."

          "Umm," Jim grunted, pausing to look both ways before venturing out of the parking lot. "Sure hope you're right, or we just gave it a pretty good warning."

          "No," Blair said, shaking his head. "It didn't understand what we were talking about, or care, either."

          "You think Simon got it?"

          The younger man sighed. "I hope so. But I hope he's good enough to hide it so the entity doesn't spot something wrong and go on the alert."

          Jim shook his head. "Simon's a cop, Chief. He knows how to hide a reaction like that – if he heard it."

          Blair shrugged. "Best we could do. Can you drop me off at the university?"

          Ellison glanced at him, then back to the road. "You weren't making it up back there?"

          "Nope," the post-doc answered. "I'm running out of time for my project there, and I need to talk to Craig about it."

          The older man shrugged. "Fine with me. You want me to pick you up when you're done?"

          Blair grimaced. "Man, I'll be glad when I can drive again. I hate the way these painkillers make me feel, and I hate having to call you every time I need a ride."

          The detective shrugged at him, turning left at the light and heading toward the university. "It's fine, Sandburg." He frowned at a thought. "Don't the painkillers affect the shaman thing?"

          "Yeah," the younger man answered sourly. "Little stuff I can do, like look at Simon and dreamwork, but major stuff – when we do this thing for real I tell you I sure won't be on them then."

          Jim pulled into a university parking lot with all the casual expertise that came with years of using it. "Won't pain get in the way, too?"

          Blair paused before unlatching the door. "It's not that bad, Jim. I can ignore my ribs for the time it'll take to deal with the entity, and they're almost healed anyway."

          "You mean they were," Ellison muttered as the post-doc swung the door open and carefully hefted his backpack. "That's not what Alan said last night."

          The younger man grinned at him and slammed the door, turning toward the campus, which lay on the other side of the street. Halting at the light, he turned and waved, and Jim sighed and lifted a hand to him, then swung the truck around the summer-empty lot and pulled out into the street, heading home.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair paused outside the door to one of the anthropology labs, peering through the glass panel and nodding to himself when he spotted the older man bending over a few of the artifacts. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"Hey, Craig," he greeted, raising a hand to the man, who turned to meet him with a quizzical smile.

          "You're in on a Saturday?" he questioned, the faint Irish lilt clear in his voice. "That's dedication."

          Blair shrugged, halting the movement too late, and he waited out the ripple of pain that danced up his side. "Just a normal post-doc," he answered, trying not to sound strained. "You know, obsessed, overworked, and underpaid."

          "Not to mention underappreciated," Craig agreed, moving back to his seat at the other end of the lab table. "Well, if I can help you, let me know."

          "Oh, I will," Blair answered, not smiling as he passed the man, his gaze flicking across the five artifacts that sat where he'd left them on the large table.

          He set his backpack down and seated himself by the artifacts, choosing one and studying it carefully, noting the designs engraved down its sides.

          Fifteen minutes later he set the last one down and nodded, then traced a pentagram on the table with his finger, making sure that it faced upward, not down. Faint blue lines followed his finger, and reaching over, he chose one of the artifacts, setting it carefully on the topmost point, then moved clockwise around the diagram, positioning artifacts at each of the points until all were placed. As he set the last one, white ripples of light raced through all the connections, and the pentagram glowed faintly.

          Blair drew a deep breath and then huffed it out, looking down the table to Craig, who met his eyes. "Who are you?" he asked the man.

          The older man smiled, then rose and beckoned Blair over to the small carpeted area set up in the corner of the room. He seated himself in one of the padded chairs and waved the post-doc to another one.

          Blair stood, hesitated, then quickly dismantled his pentagram, carefully removing all the artifacts and setting them off to the side of the design, which went dark immediately. He then paced over to the lounge area and seated himself, staring at Anthen.

          "Who are you?" he repeated.

Craig smiled at him. "I'm a friend."

          The anthropologist studied him. "Are you a shaman?"

          Craig inclined his head. "I have talents in that area, yes."

          Blair nodded thoughtfully. "You aren't here by chance, are you? You're following the entity."

          "I am," Craig said soberly. "From its break-out until now."

          "And this whole project was deliberately set up to pull me in," Blair said, watching the older man nod. "But why me? And what is this entity? What does it want? Where'd it come from? What happened?"

          Craig smiled, shaking his long ponytail back. "That, Dr. Sandburg, is a long story. Briefly put, it began almost a month ago, when a truck carrying several artifacts went off the road during a thunderstorm. The driver was knocked out but came out of it with amazingly few injuries. The artifacts themselves suffered more, as several of them had spilled into the rain and weather. The seal on this entity's artifact cracked, and the entity escaped, taking the young teenager who found it as a host."

          "Host?" Blair questioned. "This doesn't sound like a symbiotic relationship."

          "It's not," the man said shortly. "The host acts as a base from which the entity can extend its influence, and eventually it absorbs her."

          "Eventually?" Blair asked quietly. "How long does it take?"

          "Generally, around five weeks," Craig answered. "Give or take a few days, depending on the individual."

          Blair swallowed. "So she's running out of time, and we need to act soon." He looked back at Craig. "This entity. What does it want?"

          "What do you think it wants?"

          The younger man hesitated, then pulled his legs up and settled himself crosslegged on the cushions. "Mayhem, murder, chaos."

          "Very good," the older man approved. "And very close to the truth. The entity does not feed off negative energy per se, but rather perceives it as a fish does water. In other words, it is at home with it, and the more negative energy surrounds it the more it is relaxed and at ease. Bright energies – joy, love, happiness, discipline, etc – act as walls to it, hindering its movement and its freedom. But its presence encourages darkness."

          He paused and Blair blinked at him, then nodded. "The crime wave."

          "Yes," Anthen agreed. "People tend to lose control more often and more easily under the entity's influence, and so there are more homicides, more arson, more child and domestic abuse, and so on. People also find it harder to heal, both physically and mentally."

          "I do remember hearing on the news the other night, that hospitals were running out of room and were starting to turn people away," Blair said slowly, resting his elbows on his knees. "And road rage is up by 150%. I never thought it was all tied to the entity."

          "What else have you noticed?"

          "Well, I mapped it," Blair commented, chewing his lip. "Across the city, I mean," he added at Craig's frown. "From the results, I'd guess it tends to inhabit the poorer, more violent sections of town first, and spread out from there. And some people are more susceptible to the entity's influence than others, aren't they?"

          "Very good," Arthen smiled. "All true. Certain people are affected negatively by the shadow of the entity – children, some of the older folk, some of the mentally ill, and those sensitive to energy and its use. Others are strengthened by the shadow – those who feed on chaos, or use it: criminals, sociopaths, psychopaths, child molesters, and the like. Their plans tend to work better under the entity's influence, while those who act as a force for order: firefighters, teachers, police officers, healers, are often more vulnerable and their plans go awry more often."

          Blair nodded thoughtfully. "The way the thieves' violence escalated, and people started getting hurt, where they hadn't hurt anyone before. And they were harder to catch than they should've been." He cocked his head at Craig. "Where did the truck carrying the artifacts crash?"

          "North of here about fifty miles," Craig said. "Cascade was the largest population center, and it moved steadily towards the city. My task was to contain it, but as you yourself know by now, one person can't halt it."

          "Not alone," Blair agreed. "But with others, and using these artifacts, you can trap it, right?"

          "Not me," Craig said soberly, "you."

          Blair stared at him. "Me?"

          Craig nodded. "Unfortunately, it took a few days for us to track down the host, and by that time the entity had found you. Once it had touched you, however faintly, no one else could interfere with it."

          Blair blinked at him. "Why? What's so special about me?"

          Anthen smiled at him. "Aside from the fact that you're a shaman, you're also a Guide. That set up a dynamic between you and the entity that no one else could break, even before the connection became as solid as it now is. And it found you almost immediately after taking the host."

          Blair stared at him, wide-eyed. "Guide?" Craig looked at him, and the younger man swallowed hard. "Boy, you're good. You really do your homework."

          "I had to," Craig answered, his gaze steady on the anthropologist. "A Guide and his Sentinel have a very specific energy signature, hard to miss if you know what you're looking for, and I had to know as much about you as I possibly could if I was going to help you."

          "Help me?" Blair looked at him, chewing his lip. "Just who _are_ you, Craig? You keep saying 'us' and 'we' – what's going on here?"

          The older man smiled at him. "Sorry, Blair, I have no answers for you at this time. As to the entity – after it found you, it headed for Cascade. And then it took an anchor, and the situation became even more serious."

          Blair studied him, his brows crooked, then sighed. "All right, I'll let your mystery stand – for now. But when this is over, I'm going to want some answers. What does an anchor do?"

          Craig sighed. "The anchor acts to ground the entity in this area, giving it more of a foundation and extending its range of power. But unlike the host, who is truly unconscious and unaware of the entity or his/her surroundings, the anchor is both conscious and aware, but unable to struggle."

          Blair shivered, swallowing. "God. Simon."

          "Yes," Craig said heavily. "And if he's not removed from the influence of the entity within a certain space of time, it will own him, however he struggles."

          Blair closed his eyes, then opened them and stared at the older man. "How long does he have?"

          "Three weeks from the time he was taken, if he has a strong personality."

          Blair nodded. "So he's nearly out of time, too." He leaned forward. "And me?"

          "You're the entity's chosen focus."

          "Is that what you call it?" Blair muttered. "I thought it wanted me as a kind of partner, sort of a channel."

          "That's a good description," Craig agreed. "The focus gives the entity exactly what the name implies – a focus through which to magnify its power. The stronger and more metaphysically knowledgeable the focus is, the more power the entity can gain from their 'union."

          "Uh," Blair said, swallowing hard, "that's gross. And I guess that my being a Guide doesn't help."

          Anthen shook his head. "No, it adds a component to the mix that complicates the situation even more, although we're not sure how or why. As far as we know, the entity has never fixated on a Guide before, so we have no data to go by."

          Blair looked down at his hands, then lifted his head to stare at the man. "Is that why it picked Simon as an anchor? Because of me?"

          Craig inclined his head. "It knew Simon's relationship to you and your Sentinel, and any disruption of your power base would throw you off balance and make you that much more vulnerable to its influence."

          "Damn," Blair whispered, his gaze dropping. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, straightening. "I never thought that what I was endangered my friends."

          Craig sighed. "In this instance, yes. Most of the time it is just the opposite, and you serve as a protection of sorts."

          "Not this time," Blair said grimly. "You say that you can help me. How?"

          The older man studied him. "What did you discover about the artifacts?"

          Blair glanced aside at the objects, then back at Arthen. "Placed in the right configuration within a pentagram, they create a sealed space. I'm assuming that it's some sort of trap for the entity, but I don't see how you could keep it there unless the artifacts stay in that position for the rest of eternity, and that just won't work."

          "You're right," Craig smiled. Leaning over, he opened a nearby cupboard and reached inside, withdrawing a small stone box, which he then handed to the anthropologist, who studied it, then looked up.

          "It's sealed into this, isn't it."

          It wasn't a question, but Anthen nodded. "Yes, that's the original artifact it broke out of, but the crack it used to escape has been sealed. Place it in the middle of the pentagram, and when the trap snaps shut, it binds the entity within again."

          Blair raised his eyebrows. "But how do you get the entity into it? I mean, it has to be familiar with this process if it's been trapped like this before."

          "Yes, it was," Craig agreed. "However, the entity has a weakness – it _must_ have a focus, or it eventually dies. And it can't choose just anyone. The person must be mature, have some metaphysical talents, and be a strong individual. The better the chosen focus matches those needs, the more the entity will want them." He smiled at the younger man. "You, Blair, are irresistible."

          Blair flushed, his gaze dropping. "Great. I feel like a piece of catnip."

          Craig chuckled. "Then you can appreciate that the entity won't be able to ignore you."

          "Guess not," the shaman muttered, his cheeks still faintly red. He took a breath and looked up. "But it hasn't been able to get me yet. That must really frustrate it." He saw the quizzical look of the other man and elaborated. "When Jim and I are together, mentally, I mean, it really seems to confuse the entity, and it can't hold onto me." He grimaced. "I guess that's the only thing that's saved me so far."

          "Perhaps," Craig agreed. "I must tell you that I've never seen a chosen focus resist for as long as you have, particularly when the entity's connection is as strong as it is with you."

Blair shrugged. "But how do I get the entity into the trap? Without it knowing what I'm trying to do?"

          "As for the latter," Anthen answered, "as you've probably noticed, it can't actually read your mind, so it won't be forewarned unless you deliberately inform it of your intention. As to how, it's actually very simple. The focus must lead the entity into the trap, and someone on the outside must close it."

          "I see," Blair said after a moment. "So the focus dies with the entity."

          "Oh, no," Anthen said quickly, "not usually. The focus must lead the entity in and then leap out before the trap is sealed. You'll find that the interior of the trap is set up to favor the escape of the focus and hinder that of the entity."

          "Well, that's something," Blair said dryly. "I've got a lot of plans for this lifetime that I'd kind of like to see through. Not to mention a Sentinel to Guide. But even if I'm an irresistible tidbit, I still wouldn't think it'd just blindly follow me into something it just escaped from."

          "True," Craig affirmed. "In general, the focus must either anger or offend the entity to such a degree that it follows him or her blindly into the trap, only realizing its folly too late." He paused and added gently, "I won't lie to you, Blair. This is very dangerous work, and more than one focus has died imprisoned with the entity. But most of them haven't."

          Blair studied the table for a moment and then looked up. "What happens if the entity catches the focus before she or he can reach the trap? Doesn't that give the entity a whole lot of power and make them even more difficult to trap by others?" Craig sighed, and the Guide's eyes narrowed. "There's another way to do this, isn't there?"

          The older man grimaced. "There have been a few times, yes, when the entity has managed to either convince its focus to join with it or has overwhelmed him or her before it could be trapped. In such cases, there is one moment when the entity is vulnerable, and that is in the middle of the joining." He met Blair's gaze. "If the focus is killed at that moment, then the entity is tremendously vulnerable and can be easily forced into the trap and sealed inside its artifact again."

          Blair nodded. "And that's what you'll do to me if this fails, right?" He met and held the man's eyes, relaxing as Anthen nodded. "Good. I won't let this _thing_ run around the world wreaking havoc, and I can't stand the notion of it taking me over and making me part of itself." He glanced away, swallowing hard. "I don't know what my dying like that would do to Jim, but I think the entity's the greater threat, and I know he'll agree."

          "I suspect he would die with you," Craig answered soberly. "Particularly since he should be working with you on this, and the two of you are bonded."

         Blair nodded, and settled back into his seat. "Okay, so what's the plan? We need to save the host, save Simon, and trap the entity, hopefully without killing me and Jim."

          Craig hesitated, and Blair's eyes narrowed. "What?"

          Anthen shook his head. "Trapping the entity will free the host, but at this stage it will not free Simon."

          Blair uncurled himself, putting both feet on the floor, his expression taut. "You mean that if I trap the entity, Simon dies with it?"

          Craig took a deep breath. "Yes, but if you trap the entity he dies knowing that his death was not in vain." He saw Blair's fists clench and added, "He's a police officer, wouldn't he willingly give his life for his city? This way he dies knowing you've won and the entity is contained and his city is safe again."

          Blair pushed himself to his feet, pacing across the carpeted space before whirling to face the older man. "I can't do it, Craig. I can't! Simon's my friend, and I promised him we'd get him out of there. I can't break that promise!"

          "You haven't a choice," Craig answered coolly, though his eyes were gentle. "If you don't trap the entity, sooner or later it will take you, Blair, with or without your Sentinel to help you. Its power is growing daily as it claims this city as its own, and that power will jump exponentially once it has you. It can absorb Cascade into itself and expand outward from it, taking over the small communities between here and Seattle or Portland, and then stretch into those cities as well. There is no limit to its size except the energy it can use, and with you as a focus your abilities are its to command as well. And it may even be able to command your Sentinel, through you, and you won't be able to protect him."

          Blair went white, and Craig held his gaze. "Before I let that happen, Blair, I will kill you, and although I will mourn your death, and those of your friends, I will not regret them. Not with so much at stake."

          Blair dropped onto the couch facing the chairs, burying his face in his hands, and for long moments there was silence.

          When the younger man raised his head again, his eyes were dry, his expression set. "All right, we'll do this your way. But I have an idea, and if it works, it'll save Simon even if Jim and I die. And the entity will be trapped one way or the other."

          Craig studied him. "Tell me."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Why does it always have to be you?" The quiet frustration in Jim's voice was clear, and Blair looked up at him from his crosslegged seat on the couch.

          "Hey, man, it's not _always_ me. You have your job, I have mine and, on the whole, I do a lot less work than you."

          Jim glanced over his shoulder at the Guide. "Funny, but it doesn't feel like that, Sandburg."

          Blair shrugged at him. "I'm a Guide and a shaman, Jim. This kind of work comes with the territory."

          "But why?" The words were driven, and Ellison turned to look at him, his back to the French doors. "Damn it, Chief, why!"

          Blair studied him, not without sympathy, aware that if Jim could have been in the lead position on this the detective wouldn't have hesitated to dive into the breach. But knowing his Guide was the target and not being able to protect him – that went against every instinct the Sentinel owned, and Blair knew it.

          "Because I am the shaman of the city, Jim," he answered, leaning forward when the older man snorted. "I am. And I guess I started to realize that that means it's mine to guard as much as yours, not just as your Guide, but as a shaman, too." He looked down, his face heating up. "I know that sounds pretty pretentious, but–"

          "No." Ellison's voice was sober, and he turned and paced over to his chair, seating himself without taking his gaze from the anthropologist. "No, it doesn't. That's what you are. And I know you have to do this, not just for Simon or us, but because it has to be done."

          Blair looked up at him, meeting his eyes. "Yeah, I do."

          "Then we do it together," Jim said steadily.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"I _don't_ like this, Sandburg!" Turner glared around the large room, his gaze roving over the large pentagram drawn across fully one half of the floor, lit by wall sconces. Three white columns, set in an arc, separated the pentagram from the rest of the room, which was carpeted in a deep blue plush. Lamps were scattered across the carpet, making that half of the room warm and bright. "Are you sure about this?"

          "Yes," Blair answered quietly, looking up from his crosslegged seated position beside one of the columns. "I am." The calm resolve in the words made the captain grit his teeth, and he spun to pace a few steps, then whirled back.

          "Damn it, Blair–"

          The shaman looked up at him, something in the gaze halting the man almost mid-word. "This is the way it is, Dave, the way it has to be."

          The name stole the breath Turner had been ready to use, and he exhaled with a sigh.

          A door on the far end from the pentagram opened, and Jim paced across the space to seat himself by his friend's side, his jaw set. "Ready," he said shortly.

          Blair nodded. "Good."

          As if the word had been a signal, the door opened again, this time to a younger, light-haired man pushing a hospital cot on which Simon lay. An older man followed him in, and Turner's jaw tightened as the bed was set up against the nearby wall, the black man in it as relaxed as always.

          Blair glanced up as the older man approached. "Hi, Craig, this is Captain Turner. Dave, this is Craig."

          The captain glared at the man. "So you're the one who started all this."

          Anthen hiked an eyebrow at him, then glanced down at the anthropologist. "Are you sure about him, Blair? He has the talent, true, but can he let you lead in this?"

          "A captain's bark is always worse than his bite," Jim cut in dryly.

          "It's in the job description," Blair added, grinning slightly. "Yes, Craig, I'm sure." He shifted restlessly. "Can we get on with this?"

          Anthen nodded and then gestured to Turner. "Please, sit down, Captain – on the other side of Blair, if you would." He turned and beckoned to his younger companion as Turner reluctantly followed his suggestion.

          "And this is Robert, an associate of mine," Craig added, turning back as the light-haired man approached. He gestured, and Robert joined him as he seated himself, a short space between the two groups.

          Turner's gaze raked the man, his lips thinning as he saw the bulge of a gun under the coat. Glancing sideways, he saw the same expression settle on Jim's face, and spoke before the Sentinel could. "What the hell is he doing here?"

          Craig frowned, but before he could speak Blair stepped in. "Stop it, both of you." He glanced from one man to the other, his lips set. "We already had this discussion. You know the plan, you know the risks. This is something I have to do, and Craig and Robert will do what they have to do if there's no other way. Let it go!"

          Jim grimaced and then sighed at the glare he received. "I know, Chief. I'm with you, all the way." He took a deep breath, clearly trying to relax.

          "Thanks, Jim," Blair said, tapping his knee with a closed fist. "I know this isn't easy." He turned to look at the man on his other side. "Captain?"

          Turner sighed. "All right, but I don't have to like it." He looked at Craig and Robert, his eyes hard. "I understand the necessity of your job, but these are my men, and you damn well better give them the best shot possible."

          The two men nodded, and Craig sighed. "Believe me, Captain Turner, no one will be happier than I if it goes according to plan. But just in case it doesn't…" He looked at Robert, who reached into his jacket and pulled out a handgun. He checked the safety and then rested it on his knee, pointing at Blair.

          "Don't argue!" Blair hissed before either Jim or the captain could erupt. He glanced over at Simon and lowered his voice still more. "There'll only be one moment when they can kill me and nail the entity with me, and he can't waste the time getting ready then. If all of us do our best, we'll hopefully walk away from this. But the longer we wait the more difficult this gets. We need to do it now!" He reached for both men, his fingers curling around their wrists. "Ready?"

          "Yes," Turner said, and Jim nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The three of them stood on a vast plain, fog blowing past them. If he looked very closely, Blair could just see the bars of Simon's cage only feet away. He glanced at the two men with him. Jim was grimly intent, focused on the task at hand, unsurprised by their location since he and Blair had discussed it before.

          _"We won't be in the loft, Jim, since I can't bring Turner into our safe space." Blair eyed the Sentinel's small smile and sighed. "It's not that I don't trust him, I do, but that's got nothing to do with it. No one else can walk into the loft but us; that's just the nature of the beast. So we'll be standing right next to Simon's cage, but he won't see us until our attack burns off the fog."_

_"And the trap?"_

_"That'll be behind us," Blair answered, "as close to the cage as they can put it. If Simon is in the room with the design, it'll make it easier to set it closer, but I don't know if they can pull that off with the hospital. Depends how much clout they have."_

Evidently they had quite a lot, but Blair shrugged off the thought, glancing at Turner. The man had been warned what the space would look like, but it was still his first time, and the shaman wasn't surprised at the way he stared around.

Raising a hand to tap the captain's arm, he caught the man's attention and gestured off to the right, holding up a hand, all the fingers spread. Turner nodded and turned, pacing off to the right, and Blair could almost hear him counting paces.

The shaman waited until Turner was out of sight in the fog and then glanced up at Jim, who nodded, lifting a hand to squeeze his shoulder before turning to head off behind him.

          Again Blair waited until he could feel the Sentinel had stopped and turned to face him, many paces behind the shaman. Then he took a deep breath, whispered a small prayer, and attacked.

          Light, brilliant and white, abruptly blazed up around him, quickly enveloping the now-visible cage in a furious inferno. Flames rushed up Simon's figure, and he staggered back with a cry, raising his arms in a futile attempt to shield himself. The flames crackled furiously, leaping even higher as they fed on the dark cords that bound him, and the walls of the cage began to melt. The fog thinned into wisps and then melted away, and Simon stared out at Blair, his own eyes wild.

          And then the entity struck.

          It was like a hammer blow from God. The ground shook, the earth groaned, and the sky turned black, a black as dark and hard as ebony.

          Blair turned and ran.

          Behind him he felt a lick of heat as lightning struck where he'd been standing, and he leaped sideways, just missing a chasm that opened under his feet.

          He could feel Jim's worry, but didn't have time to reach for him as he threw himself sideways, another lightning bolt searing his side as he moved.

          When he scrambled to his feet again, it was to see a monstrous maze ahead, huge stone walls that curved this way and that, and for a moment he quailed, thinking it the entity's idea of a trap before he realized that this was this dimension's representation of the pentagram. He didn't hesitate, lunging forward.

          Just short of the maze he halted, feeling the entity's attention waver. Yes, it wanted him, and badly, but it didn't want to go into something that resembled its old trap so much. Blair hesitated and swallowed dryly. "You can have me," he said aloud, and felt the entity fixate on his words, its power swelling around him so quickly that the very air started turning black.

"You can have me," he repeated. "We both know that. And even within that," he said, pointing at the maze, "you can break out, if you have me."

And it was true, too, he knew now. That was why he was such a prize to the being – with him as a focus, it could never be restrained again, no matter what was brought against it. At least that was what it thought, although Blair fervently hoped it was wrong. He dragged in a breath. "So, what're you afraid of?" he asked, and leaped forward, his sudden move catching the entity by surprise as it prepared to close around him.

          Inside the maze he hesitated, glancing around. Craig had said that the trap would tend to aid him to escape and at the same time tend to hold the entity captive, but he hadn't gone into any more detail than that. A wind sprang up around him, icy cold tendrils curling into his hair and clothes. He shivered, knowing that the entity, now sure that it could win, was merely playing with him, wearing him down.

          "Damn it, Craig," he whispered, staring around, "what did you mean?"

          A blue line of fire appeared over a rock, shooting along the floor until it reached one of the tunnels leading further into the maze, where it climbed to shoulder height and shot out of sight. A red line of fire crawled into another corridor, promptly vanishing into its depths.

          Blair nodded and headed toward the blue corridor, breaking into a run as the wind strengthened.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Around what felt like fifteen minutes later Blair lay in the shadows at the edge of a tunnel, studying the land outside. A hundred feet or more away a thin line was carved into the earth, and outside that line was only thin white fog. He sighed.

That line was the edge of the pentagram design, and once he was past that he knew – he could feel – that Craig would slam the trap closed, locking the entity within and the whole thing would be over.

But the entity was around somewhere, and he couldn't tell if it was just waiting for him to emerge. So the key would be getting himself out before the entity grabbed him, since if the entity caught him he knew there was a bullet waiting with his name on it. Briefly he thought of Turner and Simon, hoping that their plan had worked and Craig had been able to help them both escape during the shaman's diversion. Jim, he knew, was out there somewhere, waiting for him.

          Blair took a deep breath and blew it out. Well, he wasn't going to get past the entity by just lying there. He rose to his feet, set himself, and ran.

          And suddenly that pit opened in the sky again, and he swayed, staggered, and fell, his energy vanishing down it so quickly he didn't even have time to reach for Jim before blackness swept over him.

          _Nooooo!_

          The Sentinel's roar was so fierce and so loud that Blair started, raising his head as the hot, dry scents of the link surged through him.

          And the pit in the sky snapped closed with an audible hiss, and Blair pushed himself to his feet and ran for all he was worth toward the edge of sky that he knew marked the boundary of the design. He could just make out Jim standing there, waving at him, and he put his head down and forced himself faster.

          Above him the black sky lowered, dropping to within feet of the ground, and boulders started to appear again, rolling down on him from several directions. One bludgeoned into him just as he reached the line, and he staggered, fell and Jim grabbed him and yanked, hard.

          And the world went away.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Warm and relaxed, Blair floated blissfully in the sun. Somewhere low whispers echoed, and he listened drowsily.

          _Do you think he'll wake up?_

_Sandburg is too damned stubborn to let some fancy-assed shadow take him out. It might take him a while, but he'll find his way back._

_What about Jim? He's fighting so hard to get him back. If Blair doesn't make it, what'll happen to him?_

_Silence._

_They come as a pair. If one of them makes it, the other one will. And Sandburg will make it._

_I hope you're right._

_I've known them longer than anyone, Dave. I am._

          Blair wondered who the whispers belonged to. It felt like he should know them, but the names just wouldn’t come. But it was just too warm to care, and anyway he was so tired…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The next timehe woke it was to the sound of bells, great, deep bells, ringing in the distance, and he lay listening to them for a while, wondering what the occasion was. There was a soft breeze caressing his face, and the scents of pine and of cut grass wafted over him. He breathed in appreciatively. He must be somewhere in the country – that was the only place he'd ever smelled pines this strongly.

          He opened his eyes, blinking in the light, and stared up at a wood-beamed ceiling, then rolled his head, peering to the right.

          Another bed sat beside his own, and Jim lay asleep in it, looking as if he had thrown himself there in an awkward sprawl. Blair blinked at him for a moment and then rolled his head the other way, only to find Turner watching him with a smile from a chair set beside the bed.

          Blair stared at him drowsily for a moment, then returned the smile. "Hey, Dave," he whispered. "I guess you got out."

          Turner's smile widened. "Not just me," he said in a very low voice, then rose. "There's someone who'd like to say hello, now that you've deigned to wake up." He leaned through a door at the end of Blair's bed and beckoned.

          Blair snorted a little, but didn't have time to react before Turner backed away and Simon stepped through the door, closing it behind him, his gaze on the Guide.

          Blair sat up very quickly, grinning. "Simon! Coolest, man! I knew–" The spurt of energy abruptly ran out, and he slumped backward, falling into Jim's arms as the Sentinel caught him, bracing him into a sitting position.

          "Take it easy, Chief," the detective murmured, and the younger man relaxed into his grip, Simon and Turner both stepping closer to the bed, worried frowns on their faces.

          "'Take it easy' is right, Sandburg," Banks growled, waving a cigar at him. "You've been out of it for a week. It's going to take a while to recover from that whatever-it-was you did."

          "A week?" Blair asked blankly, aware of the tension in the chest he leaned against. "You're kidding. What happened?"

          Simon and Turner traded glances with Jim over the younger man's head, and finally the blond looked back at him. "What's the last thing you remember?"

          The shaman frowned. "Uh, Jim yanking me out of the trap, and then everything went away."

          Simon placed the cigar between his teeth but didn't light it. "Well, that makes sense," he said, nodding, then at Blair's glare he continued. "Seems that that _thing_ hit you at the moment Jim grabbed you. It tried to drag you away, but Jim wouldn't let go."

          "He'd almost managed to pull you out completely when Craig shut the trap," Turner said when Simon halted, chewing his cigar in a nervous fashion that Blair recognized. "That threw you both out, and he woke up." He paused, his eyes dark and unreadable. "You didn't."

          Leaning into his partner, Blair felt the small shiver that rippled through the Sentinel, and he pushed back just a little, rewarded by the faint relaxation of the arms taut around him. "What happened?" he asked softly.

          Simon shrugged. "Ask Jim. Craig did something with the two of you, but he won't talk about it."

          Blair leaned back and peered up at his friend, reading the bunched jaw muscles and narrowed eyes without a problem. "Maybe later," he said, smiling as he turned back to the two men. "Hey, Simon, I am so glad to see you, though! Glad you both got out; I was afraid for a while it might not work."

          "Oh, it worked, all right," Turner said, shaking his head. "When you do things, Sandburg, you don't do them halfway. That was some light show."

          "What's the point in doing things halfway?" Blair asked, rather huffily. "Halfway is a coward's way out of doing it well. I don't do halfway."

          "Don't we know it," Jim commented dryly, but the shaman could feel his smile. "I think it's about time you took another nap, Chief. Craig said that you'd need lots of sleep after you finally woke up."

          "Don't need sleep," Blair said indignantly. "I'm fine, wide awake. And where is Craig, anyway? I've got some questions for him."

          "Sorry, Sandburg," Simon said, smiling at him. "He's gone. Left you this, though," he finished, raising an eyebrow at Blair's splutters as he withdrew an envelope from his breast pocket and handed it to him.

          "Well, damn," Blair muttered, taking the envelope with a grimace. "I had questions for him, and he knew it."

          "Guess that's why he left," Turner said with a smile, then glanced at his watch. "Well, I've got to get back to work." He glanced at Simon. "I'll tell your people you'll be in soon, maybe tomorrow?"

          Simon nodded. "I'll be caught up reading their reports by then."

          Turner smiled. "I'll let them know that." He looked at Jim and Blair, abruptly serious. "It's been an experience, working with you, one I wouldn't have traded." He glanced back at Simon. "And you can have them, Banks. I wish you all the luck in the world, because you need it with these two."

          Simon grinned, casting a proprietary look at them. "Yeah, don't I? You can look forward to getting them again when I go on vacation next time. And this time I'm not signing their vacation slips so they can miss you."

          Turner rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Simon. You're a true friend."

          "I have good examples," Banks said, abruptly serious as he glanced back at the two in bed. Blair flushed and looked away, feeling Jim's skin suddenly warm against his back as well.

          The door closed behind the two men and Blair took a breath, then started tearing open the envelope he held.

          "Sandburg, you need to sleep."

          "Sure," Blair said absently, staring at the letter.

 

_Blair,_

          I'm sorry to leave without saying goodbye, but I have another assignment and must go. But I know that you will be fine now, with rest, so I can leave you without worry. This place is a comfortable cabin in the woods outside Cascade, free to your use until you are well enough to leave. I thought it might work better to house all of you than would your loft.

_You are a strong shaman, Blair, and a good man. Walk your road well, and somewhere down it we will probably meet again. I look forward to talking with you then._

_Incidentally, I feel I must tell you that had I truly been working on the project described in the letter I wrote to you, I would have requested you for it regardless. I may have designed it for other reasons, but what I said of you as an anthropologist was nonetheless true. You show great promise in your field as well as in the metaphysical realm, and I expect that you will find opportunities to explore both, particularly with your ability to think outside the box. Keep that talent; it will serve you well._

_Good luck to you, always._

#           Craig

 

          Blair carefully folded the letter and inserted it into the envelope, then lay back against Jim's chest again, relaxing.

          "He was a good man, too, Chief," the Sentinel said softly, resting his chin on Blair's head.

          "I know," the younger man said soberly. He paused, then asked, "You want to tell me what went down between you and me and him?"

          Jim shook his head, and Blair sighed. "That deep, huh? What'd you have to do, list how many ways you loved me or something?"

          Stillness radiated from the man behind him, and Blair blinked, abruptly wide awake. "Aw, come on, big guy, you didn't!"

          "I don't want to talk about it."

          "Jim, I was kidding, you don't mean you really–"

          "I said I didn't want to talk about it. Go to sleep, Sandburg."

          Blair giggled, squashing the rest of it as the Sentinel's arms tightened. "Sure, man, whatever you say. I'll just try not to let that poem run through my head, you know the one, by Elizabeth Browning, 'How do I love thee? Let me count–" He gulped as Jim's arms abruptly constricted, cutting off his air. "Jim? Hey, man, I was just, just, you know, teasing…"

          "Go to sleep, Sandburg!"

          Ellison relaxed his grip, and Blair took a breath, abruptly yawning. "Yeah, maybe I'll do that…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ten minutes later Simon inched the door open to peek in, smiling at the picture before him – Jim leaning back against the pillows of Blair's bed, Blair nestled in his arms, both men sound asleep. Simon closed the door and went back to his chair and his reports, smiling.

 

The End


End file.
